Post by Ampersand on Sept 7, 2021 5:20:27 GMT
Guitars and percussion make a bold introduction, red, orange, and yellow lights pulsing along to the music.
We see images of WildStar filing through some records at a music store, smiling fondly as he picks up a copy of Sleater-Kinney’s, ‘Call the Doctor.’ The scene fades and we see Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston pummeling a punching bag, eyes intense, skin sheened with sweat. Bill ‘The Pit’ Woods’ face, masked in its monstrous persona, stands out in the dark, eerily illuminated by the light of a single match that he blows out. The darkness resolves into a night sky, stars pricking out little points of light revealing the swaying shadows of towering pines, the Lab Rat King seated at the foot of an immense cedar, gaze angled upward.
Following the whispery motion of the trees, we’re brought to the canopy again before our vision dives downward, revealing a smirking Roy Valentine seated on an immense, freshly-cut stump, clutching a glass of pale green wine in one hand. As Roy swirls his wine, the camera pulls into the spiraling motion, which melts and transforms into an image of David O’Toole, the Sidewinder, practicing in the ring, spinning like a dervish with a focused expression on his features. He spins again, the viewer lost in a blur of motion that morphs into an fiery-colored spiral that resolves into one of Chihuly’s radiant sea forms, framing Silvio Leon’s profile.
The Oracle turns and grins at the camera before winking. The camera blinks to black along with him, the next image flickering to life being Zephyr Quinn standing with Belle Silva on the waterfront, the Seattle Great Wheel turning behind them. The lights flicker again, the image distorting, and when it’s clear, Zephyr is standing alone. Zipping downward, the view shows an area below the pier, a focus on the back of Arthur Drake as he spray paints a bright red, ‘A’ within a circle. The viewer’s gaze becomes dominated by that red, letting it fill up the camera before it draws back, showing SKUP9 clutching the head of a rose of the same color in one hand. He scowls at it momentarily before snapping his hand closed into a fist.
As the camera plays over the audience, several of the signs stand out.
The view switches to the commentary table where Artemis Direction, Del Ramos, and Hiro Suzuki are seated behind their microphones.
Hiro Suzuki: Good evening, Ascended Army! Tonight we--
The stage screen fades to black as “Spring” from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” blares over the arena’s speakers.
Artemis Direction: What on Earth…
Del Ramos: Thank Satan - Valentine already shut Suzuki up.
An aerial shot of Roy Valentine’s sunlit mansion fades back in: a bizarre architectural affair, like a circle of stone cottages connected by some mad designer long after the initial construction. “The Valentine Estate” appears, written letter by letter in classic copperplate script, over the steadily rotating image. Another fade takes the camera within the mansion, faced with a portrait in the likeness of Roy Valentine on an ivy-wrapped marble throne, wrapped in a regal golden cloak. A red-robed Valentine walks in shot and, after a moment spent appraising his painting, faces the camera.
Roy Valentine: A pleasure to be with you all tonight, Ascended Army. While I understand your anticipation for my incumbent in-ring victory over that behemoth SKUP9, I come before you now to deliver another reason to celebrate. Later in our program, I have scheduled a return to Miss Belle Silva’s segment, Beyond the Bell, to deliver what I believe will become the most celebrated announcement in the current history of Ascended Wrestling; an exposé which may shake the foundations of your trust in one of this federation’s beloved ‘heroes’.
Valentine hoists his golden chalice to the audience.
Roy Valentine: Until then, my dears: let there be Collision!
As the video fades out, Hiro looks on with a slightly sour expression.
Hiro Suzuki: ...Like I was saying - we’ve got a great card for you tonight!
Artemis Direction: We have an injection of new talent for our first two matches! How exciting! The utterly enchanting Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston, and the venerable veteran looking to turn over a new leaf, WildStar!
Del Ramos: I wanna see what they’re made of. Hopefully one of them will have a taste for blood.
Hiro looks a bit squeamish, shaking his head.
Hiro Suzuki: If they don’t, the match that follows those two will definitely have its fair share of blood and brutality. We have The Pit versus Lab Rat King.
Del’s eyes light up with bloodthirsty glee.
Del Ramos: I must’ve done something right in this life to receive that gift tonight. Monster versus monster! That’s my kinda fight.
Artemis Direction: It’s technically a standard rules match, but I get the feeling we’re going to get a taste of the Underworld with those two. Thankfully we have a couple of angels fighting in our next bout.
Del Ramos: O'Toole and Leon? I’d like to see those two get a little more vicious in the ring, but I gotta respect a couple of kids just fighting for the sake of fighting.
Hiro Suzuki: Huh! Reminds me of why I go fishing.
Artemis Direction: Oh, really, darling?
Hiro Suzuki: Well, some folks go fishing for something specific, but me? I just go for the halibut!
Del Ramos: After I kill you, I will eat your eyes first.
Artemis Direction: Following some of our cutest combatants, we have a couple of tough as nails fighters! Zephyr Quinn continues to dominate as a hardcore goddess, but Arthur Drake is no one to be underestimated.
Del Ramos: Which brings us to our final match of the night - SKUP9 and Roy Valentine.
Artemis Direction: It’s an interesting match-up. Roy has finesse, technique, and experience, but SKUP9 is no one to take lightly. He’s gigantic, first of all, and absolutely tenacious.
Hiro Suzuki: He is a bear of a man! Say, what do you call a grizzly in a phone booth?
Del Ramos: Shut your fucking noise hole or I will be forced to rend open my Necronomicon, invoke the Hellish forces straight out of Satan’s anus, turning the sky to flies and the sea to blood, as I open all of my mouths and sing the song that will end the world.
Hiro Suzuki: Stuck!
Del Ramos: Let the record fucking show that the invocation of Armageddon rests on the shoulders of this walking embodiment of human mediocrity.
Artemis Direction: Del, sweetling, need I remind you of the embargo on using black magics while on the job?
Del heaves an exasperated sigh.
Del Ramos: Fine. I’ll do it on the weekend but only if I can schedule it around my pottery class.
Hiro Suzuki: You take a pottery class?
Del Ramos: I will never expand upon that comment.
Kevin Kim: Good evening Ascended Army! Our first match of the evening is scheduled for one fall! Already in the ring with me and referee Jill Kincaid, weighing in at 255lbs, he is Biff Jerky! And his opponent!
As REM’s Superman hits, the Titan-tron lights up with a highlight reel of wrestling clips, all displaying a dark-haired man as he appears to work across multiple decades, accruing accolades along his journey.
Kevin Kim: Now approaching the ring from Wilmington, Delaware weighing in at 225 lbs, making his Ascended Wrestling debut, he is WILDSTAR!
WildStar slowly walks out and scans the audience. He wears a European singlet with a Pixies logo printed across the front. Picking up the pace, he slaps high fives with fans on his way to the ring, even pausing to give a fist bump to a kid in an oversized shirt with his face printed across it. He climbs between the second and third ropes, does a judo roll, and then stretches by placing one foot on the top rope before alternating to the other.
Artemis Direction: You know, I find WildStar’s motivation to be so admirable. It’s good to have someone who understands the sort of impact they can have as a role model; especially for their children.
Del Ramos: There’s nothing more brutal than parenthood. Imagine some horrifying chimera that’s half you, half your partner, staring back at you with your own goddamn face. And all it can do is scream and excrete substances you didn’t even know fucking existed, and you know that that’s just the beginning of an 18-year-long journey where the horrifying Frankenstein’s monster fusion of you and your partner is going to discover all kinds of ways to make you question your sanity and the very fabric of reality itself. Infants are tiny fucking elder gods and you can’t convince me otherwise.
WildStar begins the match by approaching Jerky, hand extended in a show of good sportsmanship. Rolling his eyes, Biff swats away the hand, causing a chorus of, ‘Oooo’s’ from the crowd as he turns his back on his opponent shaking his head. Shrugging, WildStar taps his opponent on the shoulder. Biff turns around just in time to be on the receiving end of a spinning backfist that sends him staggering!
Artemis Direction: Looks like Biff’s paying for his insult!
Hiro Suzuki: Did you hear the one about the cowboy that died with his boots on?
Del seems hesitant to shoot down a joke about death.
Del Ramos: ...This is a trap.
Hiro Suzuki: He didn’t want to stub his toe when he kicked the bucket!
Del Ramos: This is why I have trust issues.
Annoyed, Jerky snarls and comes back at WildStar, taking him more seriously and locking up! The pair shift back and forth, testing each other’s strength! Biff gains the upper hand, spinning and whipping WildStar into the ropes, sending him to the mat with a clothesline!
Del Ramos: WildStar might have a little ring rust to shake off.
Artemis Direction: Don’t count him out just yet, though. You don’t earn the kinds of accolades WildStar has without cultivating some genuine skill. I simply can’t believe that it just goes away. And anyway, I don’t think I could bear it if someone as tacky as Biff wins this.
Taunting his opponent with derisive laughter, Biff leans over to pull him up to his feet. No sooner does WildStar have his feet on the ground, however, than he uses the close proximity to stun Biff with a headbutt! Jerky wobbles, surprised, but WildStar isn’t done, quickly shifting his grip to take Biff down with a swift German suplex! Holding him in a bridge, WildStar goes for the pin!
One!
Two--
Kick-out from Jerky!
Del Ramos: WildStar showing some of his wiles there, luring Biff into a false sense of security.
Incensed, Jerky is the first to get himself upright, catching hold of WildStar’s hair and hitting him in the face with a brutal forearm strike! As WildStar hits the canvas, Biff climbs to his feet and goes for an elbow drop, only to have his opponent roll out of the way!
Hiro Suzuki: Oof! I bet Biff’s feeling that one!
Artemis Direction: WildStar’s being clever in the ring!
As Biff groans, clutching his elbow, WildStar takes to the nearest turnbuckle! The audience gets to their feet, roaring encouragement as the veteran ascends, turns, and executes a glorious 5-Star Frog Splash to a thunderous pop! Rather than go for the pin, however, he seems to go for a little insurance, pulling Jerky up to his feet and slamming him back into the mat with a Michinoku Driver!
Del Ramos: He calls that vicious piece of work the WildDriver!
And WildStar goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by pinfall, WILDSTAR!
Hiro Suzuki: Guess he put Jerky out to pasture!
Del Ramos: Ugh.
Artemis Direction: An admirable showing from one of our newest Ascended Gladiators! I’m interested to see what WildStar will be doing in our upcoming pay-per-view!
Del Ramos: Ohhh yeah, Afsah’s going to be making some announcements about that tonight.
Artemis Direction: It’s an important show - our first champions will be crowned there!
Hiro Suzuki: You know what you get when you mix a crown with two tanks and a tasty noodle dish?
Del Ramos: I wish the earth would just open up beneath us and swallow us all into the abyss before you open your cake hole again.
Hiro Suzuki: King Twotankramen!
Artemis Direction: Hmm. I’d work on that one a little more, sweetheart.
Del Ramos: We’ll get to see Ascended’s belts in person for the first time. Who do you think Afsah will pick to fight for them?
Artemis Direction: It’s a bit hard to say right now. The company’s new enough where win-loss records hold a little less weight at this point. I’m sure that will change as time goes on, but knowing Marcus’ desperation to avoid boredom, he’s likely to choose whoever has the juiciest drama going on.
Artemis shrugs daintily and looks over her manicure.
Artemis Direction: Which I completely understand! A fight without a little drama behind it is like lime and salt without tequila! Like an evening of karaoke without an 80s power ballad! Like a drag show without glitter beards and press-on nails!
Del Ramos: Like a death metal album without subliminal Satanic messages.
Artemis Direction: Precisely, my bloodthirsty belle! It simply lacks that special something.
Hiro Suzuki: Speaking of special, I’ve been looking forward to our next match! Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston showed some serious moxie in her promo!
Artemis Direction: Oh, agreed! I’m so pleased we have her on the roster. I can’t wait to see what she has to show us!
Del Ramos: According to the backstage staff, looks like we might get a little sneak peak from the back right now.
We open on Amelia “Wildheart” Winston, dressed for in-ring action, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders as she walks down the hall, the long walk towards the gorilla position. As she nears the sound of a throat clearing is heard, Amelia’s gaze turning to her right, the camera panning along with her, focusing on WildStar, leaning against the wall with a bemused expression on his face.
WildStar: You must be Wildheart.
Amelia Winston: And you’re WildStar. Nice to meet you. How’s the family?
WildStar: Oh, we're doing real well. My wife and I scouted out some Montesorri school's around here today for my son. If you have any good suggestions on where my son can receive a progressive education yet one founded in the basics of learning, I'm all ears. Debut match, you ready?
Amelia nods, looking a little wary.
Amelia Winston: Yup, gonna go slap a Johnson around. And I immediately regret putting it that way.
WildStar: Word of advice from a veteran: when you’re facing someone with a dick name, be very precise with your phrasing.
Amelia can’t help but break into a little grin, WildStar doing the same after a moment.
Amelia Winston: So, are we gonna have to fight about the whole ‘two people with Wild in their names’ thing?
A moment’s pause before WildStar shrugs.
WildStar: Nah, I’m sure we’ll end up facing off someday but I’m not getting bent outta shape over this.
Amelia Winston: Appreciated. Besides, I’ve already got my hands full tonight.
WildStar: Again, phrasing.
Amelia Winston: Goddammit. I’m just gonna go kick Brawn’s ass.
WildStar: Better. Give ‘em hell, kid.
The two share a fist bump before Amelia resumes her walk down the hall, WildStar watching her go as we fade to black.
Kevin Kim: Our next match is a standard singles rules match scheduled for one fall! Already in the ring, weighing in at 255 lbs, Brawn Johnson! And his opponent…
The lights dim, strobing along with the intro of "Black Sheep", Amelia standing at the top of the entrance ramp, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. The first verse hits and the lights come up brighter, still strobing a bit with the tune as she makes her way down to the ring, a bit of strut in her march. She sprints the last few yards, diving in under the bottom rope and rolling to her feet, climbing onto the ropes to cut a pose for the hard camera as the lights come back to full normal before jumping down from the ropes, ready for her bout.
Kevin Kim: Hailing from Belleville, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 157 lbs, she is AMELIA “WILDHEART” WINSTON!
Del Ramos: Brawn Johnson with an almost hundred pound weight advantage over Winston.
Hiro Suzuki: Wildheart says her speed and technique can make up the difference. I guess we’re going to find out if she’s right!
Amelia moves towards Brawn in the middle of the ring, looking to lock up as Brawn smirks a little before playfully pie-facing the smaller woman as the crowd boos.
Artemis Direction: Absolute disrespect from Johnson!
Brawn moves to pie-face Amelia again but before he can she catches him with a quick left jab to the chin, staggering the bigger man before turning so that she can give him a round kick square in the ass, sending him staggering a few more steps.
Artemis Direction: And Winston shows she’s not going to take it without giving back some of her own!
Hiro Suzuki: I hope Brawn Johnson doesn’t get butthurt about her reply!
Brawn takes a swing at Amelia and she ducks it, executing a go behind before grabbing a headlock. The two begin to trade wrestling holds, Amelia clearly a step quicker, constantly countering Brawn everytime he looks to reverse one of her maneuvers until Brawn finally has to get to the ropes after Amelia takes him down with a drop toe hold before looking to sink in a leglock!
Del Ramos: So far Winston is doing just what she said she’d do. Gotta love a fighter who can walk the walk and not just talk the talk.
Hiro Suzuki: So far she’s up on points! Which, if my notes are correct, doesn’t actually count for anything.
Amelia releases her hold as soon as referee Godric Smith begins counting, rolling back from Johnson as he scrambles to his feet at the ropes. Brawn turns and charges her with a clothesline, which Amelia ducks at a run, leaping to the middle rope before launching herself backwards, twisting and catching Brawn with a flying armdrag that sends him rolling across the ring. Brawn gets back to his feet at the ropes on the opposite side, just in time to eat a running dropkick that sends him tumbling to the floor.
Artemis Direction: Brawn Johnson needs to regroup for a second here, but I don’t think Wildheart plans to let him!
Wildheart takes a moment to pump up the crowd, the Ascended faithful clapping as she hits the ropes opposite of Brawn before charging full speed and wiping the big man out with a suicide dive through the ropes! Winston pops to her feet with a roar, stalking Brawn as he starts to stumble up. Amelia grabs him from behind, clasping his right wrist with her left hand before pulling him around, looking for the ripcord knee that makes up half of her Moneymaker combo. As she turns Brawn he brings his free hand up, raking the face of Winston who releases him, stumbling backwards as Brawn scrambles back into the ring.
Del Ramos: Desperation move by Brawn Johnson; if she’d hit that ripcord knee and fameasser combo on the floor Winston might’ve been able to just roll into the ring and let the ref count to ten.
Winston quickly hops back onto the ring apron, clearly seething. Brawn charges but Amelia meets him coming with shoulder to his midsection between the ropes before pulling him headfirst between the top and middle ropes, gripping him in a clinch before starting to pummel him with knees as the referee begins his count.
Artemis Direction: Winston is doing damage with each one of those rapid-fire strikes!
Amelia breaks when the ref gets to four before grabbing the dazed Brawn by the head in a reverse DDT position, the big man still halfway over the middle rope, before pivoting and dropping hard, smashing him across the jaw with her elbow as she sits out on the apron!
Del Ramos: Marie Antoinette Special in the ropes!
Hiro Suzuki: I know the line is ‘Let them eat cake!’ but Brawn might not be able to handle anything but soup after that!
Brawn flops down out of the ropes, on his back on the mat as he holds his head and neck. Amelia takes a second to note his position before scrambling to the top rope, checking the spot once more before connecting with the 630 senton!
Artemis Direction: Wild At Heart! Amelia Winston got all of it!
Winston quickly scrambles into a lateral press position on Brawn, nodding along with a grin as the referee counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by pinfall, AMELIA "WILDHEART" WINSTON!
Artemis Direction: A big, decisive victory for Winston in her debut!
Hiro Suzuki: I can’t remember the last time I saw a Johnson beaten so thoroughly!
Del Ramos: … I bet you can’t.
Amelia allows the referee to raise her hand before moving to Kevin Kim, asking for the mic before nodding in thanks as it’s handed to her before turning to address the crowd, still catching her breath a little.
Amelia Winston: Hey Seattle, I think I’m gonna like it here.
She grins at the crowd as she gets some applause for her victory.
Amelia Winston: Wrestling fans, I have a confession to make. I’ve been feeling something ever since I arrived in this city, ever since I knew I’d be making my debut here. It’s… it’s like a thirst. Not talking about thirsty like when I see Kyle Beckett warming up backstage.
Amelia wiggles her eyebrows playfully for the camera before shrugging.
Amelia Winston: No, it’s something else, something different. I know I missed the initial rush by like 170 years, but just like all those folks did I’ve made the trek west because I want some gold, baby! I am here because I want to be the very best in Ascended and when the time comes I want the belt that says I am just that. So Seattle, thanks for the good time, the first of many! And Ascended? Maybe someone with more talent than Brawn next time, eh?
Amelia tosses the mic back to Kevin Kim, giving a quick bow for the crowd as her music begins to play, rolling out of the ring and heading up the ramp, pausing for a selfie with a few fans along the way.
Artemis Direction: How absolutely marvelous!
Del Ramos: The lady knows what she wants and I think she might just be able to get it if we see more from her like this.
Hiro shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Hiro Suzuki: Could we bring her back? I mean, heck, she’s such a ray of sunshine and uh...you know, I’m not really ready to watch this next match.
Del Ramos: Fuck you and your pansy ass weak stomach, Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: It’s just...it’s one thing to have a single monster like one of our next opponents in the ring. It’s another to have two of them! Is there even going to be a ring after they’re done with it?!
Del Ramos: If the ring breaks, we wrestle in the ruins!
Kevin Kim: The following match is scheduled for one fall! Entering the ring first, from Houston, Texas weighing in at 267lbs, he is Bill Woods, THE PIT!
The lights go out in the arena as "Sail" by Jack Trammell begins playing over the PA system. A single strobe light shines down as Bill Woods is raised from a platform below the entrance stage to the entrance ramp. Bill stands at the top of the entrance ramp in his wrestling gear, his head lowered, a large towel covering his face. Bill's left-hand fidgets and twitches nervously, and in his right hand, he's holding a nightmarish mask. He appears to be talking to himself, and several times his left-hand flashes upward and he hits himself in the face, nearly knocking the towel off each time.
Hiro Suzuki: That can’t be healthy!
As "Sail" reaches the forty-second mark and the bass drops, Bill dramatically flings the towel off of his head and puts on his mask, screaming at the top of his lungs to herald the arrival of "The Pit". Bill runs to the ring maniacally and runs the ropes like he's possessed. His movements become jerky and unpredictable, as he waits for the arrival of The Lab Rat King.
Kevin Kim: And his opponent!
The screens display a flickering, static-struck screen with the crowned rat logo, bone-white over a black and red spattered background as the first riffs of "Hail to the King" begin playing; when the first heavy thrums of rhythm guitar in the music strike, the logo shudders and glitches, electricity running through it from left to right like a broken heartbeat. Below the screens the entrance is flooded with rolling fog cast in blood-red light and white strobe lights that match the beat of the song and of the electric shock waves on the screen.
Kevin Kim: From Portland, Oregon, weighing in at 285lbs, he is the LAB RAT KING!
Where once the Lab Rat King would enter in chains, he now walks freely, his slow and deliberate steps taking him down toward the ring. There's something bestial about the way he moves, like an animated gargoyle; he's accompanied by his wife and valet, Grace King, who seems to keep him from lunging at the jeering crowd with nothing but a hand on his arm and a smirk of her own.
Once he reaches the ropes, Grace cranes up to give him a kiss on the muzzle, and he moves almost animalistically onto the mat, standing up slowly. Upon his arrival, The Pit motions for LRK to get into the right, sitting on the second rope. Lab Rat King eyes The Pit holding open the ropes for him, snarls slightly, and gets into the ring on the opposite side.
Artemis Direction: It looks like LRK isn’t interested in social niceties.
Hiro shakes his head, complexion pale.
Hiro Suzuki: Yeah, The Pit’s a real gentleman.
As soon as the bell rings, The Pit charges for LRK! Thinking quickly, LRK sidesteps The Pit, sending him shoulder-first into the corner! Kane quickly takes advantage and pulls The Pit out and lands headbutt after headbutt into the shoulder that tasted the turnbuckle!
Artemis Direction: Right away we see King capitalizing on any advantage he can!
Del Ramos: Heh! Seconds into the match and he’s already got an injured body part to work! I get the feeling it’s going to take a lot more punishment before The Pit can even feel it, though. GO FOR BLOOD, KING!
King eases up for just a second and pays for it as The Pit explodes out of the corner with a hard clothesline, seemingly shaking off the previous attack! LRK goes down hard, but quickly gets to all fours and then back to his feet, only for The Pit to meet him toe to toe. The staredown is an intense ten seconds before the two lay into each other with rights and lefts! The monsters take a turn getting the advantage before The Pit lands a thumb to the eye of LRK!
Hiro lets out a sympathetic cry, one hand going to his own eye.
Hiro Suzuki: Ooh I hate it when they go for the eyes!
Artemis Direction: Not the most sportsman-like way to go about this, but it gets the job done.
Del Ramos: These two understand what it means to fight. You do whatever you have to do to lay your opponent out. Fuck these standard rules matches - I want these two in an Underworld rules match! I wanna see what The Pit can do when he’s given some instruments to let his creativity run wild with.
The Pit backs up and gets a running start, swatting at King with a big boot! The blow lands on the side of LRK’s jaw, spinning King around! Taking advantage, The Pit hits a hard elbow to the lower back of LRK, bringing him down to a knee! The Pit runs the ropes and leaps toward LRK, only for King to get to his feet and catch The Pit, slamming him down with a spinning sidewalk slam!
Artemis Direction: My goodness! The absolute physicality of this match!
Del Ramos: It’s like watching two sides of beef jousting against each other and I’m fucking here for it.
Neglecting to go for the pin, LRK quickly picks The Pit up and drops him with a shoulder breaker! LRK isn’t done there as he stands back up with The Pit and lands another shoulder breaker! King lets The Pit fall and puts all his weight on The Pit’s shoulder, going for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE… NO!
At the last moment, The Pit gets his opposite shoulder up, breaking the pin!
Hiro looks downright disturbed.
Hiro Suzuki: What’s it going to take to keep this guy down?!
Artemis Direction: Maybe more than what King has to offer.
Del Ramos: EAT EACH OTHER’S HEARTS!!
LRK snarls and whips The Pit to his feet. King delivers a boot to the gut of The Pit and sets him up for the Empty, Hollow, Thud! The Pit fights back with rights and lefts to King’s head, but LRK isn’t having any of it as he runs to the corner and powerbombs The Pit into the top turnbuckle! He isn’t done and keeps ahold of The Pit, spinning him around and dropping him with the Empty, Hollow, Thud! LRK goes for the cover and Jill Kincaid slides in to make the count!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by pinfall, THE LAB RAT KING!
Del is cackling mirthfully.
Del Ramos: FUCK YES! Ohhh and the best part is you know this ain’t the last time. The Pit’s the kind of dude who thrives off of this kind of violence. You can see it by watching him work. He’s definitely going to want to indulge in some of this choice clobbering again! I fucking love every monstrous bastard we have here.
Hiro Suzuki: I’m just relieved it’s over. Hey, where do you find monster snails?
Artemis Direction: Monster snails? I’m not sure, darling, where?
Hiro Suzuki: At the end of a monster’s fingers!
Del gives Hiro a perplexed look for a moment before the wordplay dawns on them, after which a quiet, quavering rage begins to take hold of them, their face beginning to purple.
Artemis Direction: And now we take you backstage with Ascended’s newest interviewer, Belle Silva, for her segment, ‘Beyond the Belle!’
A backstage view of the Ascended arena appears on screen, revealing a modest stage of two chairs, a single floodlight, and a simple gray backdrop. In one seat sits Belle Silva, head low, looking nervous. Across from her is Roy Valentine, tonight wearing a robe of black silk embroidered with petite emerald birds over his wrestling attire. A crimson rose pin with gold trim adorns his lapel; a ruby at its centre glimmers in the stage lights. Behind him, wrapped in her typical layer of silent stoicism, stands Valentine's assistant, Anastasia Keller.
Belle coughs softly to clear her throat, crosses her legs, and begins.
Belle Silva: Good evening, Ascended Army! I am seated with Roy Valentine who has asked for this time. Now, Mr. Valentine, what made you request this time? I was under the impression that you weren’t going to make announcements on my show?
Roy Valentine: I believe, Miss Silva, you may recall that specific quotation referring to an instance under which I would announce my gaining a protégé. Under the circumstances, I find your… modest… platform perfectly suited to my needs. I have not come today to make any such announcement—though, yes, the subject matter is related.
Belle Silva: Did something happen recently that changed your mind?
Roy Valentine: In a manner of speaking. But forgive my riddles a moment longer; first, I must provide context for my appearance tonight. Following the events at Collision Three, I met a young man who positively enthralled me. This young man, I thought to myself during the ride home, has bite. He has skill, style, and intellect, within and without the ropes. I saw the potential for a future World Champion in his wiry little frame.
Here, Valentine sighs as his eyes drift from Belle; he stares, not entirely present, beyond the walls of the set.
Roy Valentine: Note that word: potential. There are… inconsistencies, shall we say, in his fighting form which require attention. And I, in a rare philanthropic mood, was moved to believe that I could help tighten those few loose bolts—before they prove fatal to his career.
Belle opens her mouth to say something but is quickly overtaken by Valentine.
Roy Valentine: So I invited him to dinner chez moi. A banquet, we shared that night! We broke bread and enjoyed the delights of fine food, pleasant company, and casual business. And for dessert? Well, only the sweetest cherry on the cake of that evening. I offered this young man my services, in the form of a training contract: I would provide him the wealth and experience of the Valentine Estate and its members, if he would stand by my side as pupil and peer. Physical therapists, dieticians, in-ring and vocal instructors—not to mention a King’s ransom in an annual budget for promotions; I offered him my entire world. The perfect fertilizer for an award-winning seedling. How, then, do you think he responded? He had the gall, did young David O’Toole, to insult me in my own home and storm off without an answer.
Belle Silva: So is David O’Toole the reason you asked for this ti…
Belle is once again interrupted by her interviewee.
Roy Valentine: Today, I come before you to demand that answer in stark terms. David, my boy, the roads which have led us to the halls of the Ascended may be distant, but they run parallel. We are kin, you and I: we are warriors of exceptional caliber. Ah, is that your laughter I hear from the locker room? I know you harbor little respect for me. I have no doubt you consider me a mediocre talent among the ranks of Ascended. But should I prove tonight to be mediocre—and we all know that I will prove precisely the opposite—know that I am the mediocre talent who fought you to a draw.
His teeth gleam in his signature smile of self-satisfaction.
Roy Valentine: Where does that place you? Please, take the moment to compute.
Valentine raises a glove to the camera and, delicately sliding its fingers from his hand, removes it, stands, and throws it to the ground.
Roy Valentine: I shall offer you that contract once more in terms you can understand. I challenge you to prove to me that you are a capable and valuable member of this roster. Show me your skill, David. Show me your fury. Show to me and the Ascended Army that you can stand among titans. Your victory will convince everyone in the arena, including myself, that you do not require my help. But should you lose, you will accept the contract and all it entails, and allow me to refine you into the fighter you deserve to be. I may also forgive you your crude manners. My offer stands until the first rays of dawn shine above the eastern horizon. Be swift, David; and do not be as foolish as when last we met. I am offering you a guaranteed future in this federation—the means to ensure dear Marcus’s continued interest. Certainly, you do not wish to return to your previously nomadic life. Be assured that after a taste of what I can offer, you will be begging for tenure within the Valentine Estate.
??: Regarding Mr. Afsah’s continued interest, Mr. Valentine.
Standing in the nearby doorway, having made her approach during Valentine’s address, is Jodie Ngyuen—representative of the president of Ascended Wrestling itself, who has not deigned to descend from lazing about on his piles of gold.
Jodie nods to Belle Silva before redirecting her attention back to Roy Valentine, a clipboard and tablet under her arm.
Jodie Ngyuen: Pardon the interruption, Ms. Silva. I’m here on behalf of my employer to discuss a proposition he would like to put forward.
Her expression remains passive, dark eyes fixed on the head of the Estate.
Jodie Ngyuen: Regarding your confluences with Mr. O’Toole, Mr. Valentine.
Valentine whirls on his heels, eyebrows high in surprise.
Roy Valentine: Ms Ngyuen—so good of you to join us. Please, by all means; I am certain the viewers are on the edge of their seats with your timely arrival.
Jodie approaches Valentine’s side and hands him the clipboard along with a gold-inlaid pen bearing the president’s initials--M.A.--and indicates the attached document, allowing Valentine the opportunity to look it over.
Jodie Ngyuen: If you would.
Valentine’s eyes flick between Jodie and the clipboard as he takes it gingerly in hand. Reading through the document, his smile grows wide, teeth gleaming bright to the camera. Over his shoulder, Keller’s glasses shine as she struggles to sneak a look.
Roy Valentine: Marcus! You little flirt. There are easier ways to earn my attention, you know. In that vein, Jodie, if Marcus would like to speak on this matter further, let him know that he has an open invitation to the fête I am hosting tonight.
And, with a flick of Valentine’s wrist, the document is signed. Valentine returns it and the pen to Jodie. She slips the clipboard back underneath her tablet with an affirmative nod.
Jodie Ngyuen: Mr. Afsah had me schedule a block of several hours this evening which he asked me to label “Fuck-around time”, which I can only assume is his current way of making himself available for non-business engagements. I’ll inform him of the invitation. Knowing his typical habits, I suspect if you’re pouring a decent vintage of red wine and intend to shower him with personal attention, he’s inclined to show up. He’ll be late, of course, but I don’t think that’s a shock to anyone.
Roy Valentine: Magnificent. The doors will be open for you; we shall be engaged until dawn.
He claps his hands, and Keller falls into step at his heel as they turn from the set.
Roy Valentine: A pleasure as always, Miss Silva.
There's a cut to the locker room some minutes ago, where David sits on a bench, leaning forward resting his arms on his knees. There's a television showing the broadcast up in one corner that he usually pays no mind—but when he hears Valentine’s muffled voice extolling this prospect David raises his head, slowly turns to look daggers at the screen.
David O’Toole: He's joking. He’s got to be joking.
Silvio Leon, standing nearby, raises a brow looking amused.
Silvio Leon: Kinda feel like he’s getting ahead of himself.
He looks over at Davie.
Silvio Leon: Penny for your thoughts?
For the moment David just shakes his head, still staring.
David O’Toole: He’s got some gall, this prick–
As the footage shifts from compliment to challenge, David slowly stands, his face stoic but he grits his teeth.
David O’Toole: Oh, that goddamn slatteritch–
Silvio reaches out, resting a hand on Davie’s shoulder.
Silvio Leon: Easy, easy! This is what he wants from you. Don’t give it to him.
David O’Toole: That’s not– it didn’t– I said no! It was settled, the hell’s this?!
Silvio makes a face.
Silvio Leon: Seems like a guy who isn’t used to hearing ‘no.’ All the more reason to say it. You made your decision and he’s not respecting it. Like I was saying - this dude is dangerous. You know what you want - stick to your guns.
David quietly seethes, continuing to stare but remaining motionless as he listens.
Then Jodie arrives, with apparently something to add to the mix. David takes a deep breath, his exhale on edge, and glances to Silvio.
David O’Toole: What d’you reckon?
Silvio Leon: Well… Is it something you want?
David O’Toole: I dunno, it sounds like a double deal. Is it still something to go for?
Silvio Leon: That’s up to you. Is the chance of getting a win over that guy worth the risk of having to sign that contract?
There’s a long moment of quiet.
David O’Toole: … I don’t know. There’s time to think, though—not much, but it’s there.
The tattoo artist nods, watching the monitor.
Silvio Leon: You have to know what you want if you wanna be happy. Do what you gotta do, man.
He grins, patting O’Toole on the back.
Silvio Leon: Anyway, we got other things to think about. Namely, kicking each other’s asses! C’mon, we don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting.
David O’Toole: Yeah.
He nods, and finally turns away to move back towards his locker.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, your next match of the evening is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first!
As the dramatic string introduction of, ‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston,’ by the Dropkick Murphys kicks in, the lights around the Titan-tron pulse green and gold in time with the beat. The screen shows an overhead view of an industrial district, hanging in mid-air for a moment before diving down to the alleys below to show gritty images of hands being taped up, quick footwork of fighters wearing work boots instead of ring boots, and blood spattering against brick walls.
Kevin Kim: From Astoria, Oregon, weighing in at 190 pounds, they call him the Sidewinder, DAVID O’TOOLE!
Dressed in plain black ring pants without design or decor, black ring boots, and an army green hoodie, David O’Toole steps out of the entrance, pausing for a moment at the top of the ramp before making his way to the ring, his steps purposeful. Popping to his feet after sliding in under the bottom rope, he tosses his hoodie aside before rolling his shoulders and bouncing lightly from foot to foot.
Del Ramos: The kid better be careful about letting Valentine get into his head. He shouldn’t let his temper get the better of him.
Hiro Suzuki: Are you saying when it comes to being pissssssed at Valentine, the Sidewinder should sssssscale it back?
Del Ramos: Why was I not born with the ability to explode heads with my thoughts?
Kevin Kim: And his opponent!
The lights in the Colosseum go out, the Titan-tron displaying a black and white image of a Ouija board lit by candles and surrounded by scattered tarot cards and raw crystals. A planchette's point moves of its own volition across the name, ‘Silvio Leon’ written in the classic Ouija font as the opening solo of ‘Superstition,’ by Kyle Primus goes careening around the arena. The entrance is bathed in blacklight, a figure moving through it to stand at the top of the ramp, lifting their hands in front of their face to create the shape of a planchette.
Kevin Kim: Now entering the ring from Seattle, Washington, weighing in at 195 pounds, he is your 'Mystifying Oracle,' SILVIO LEON!
At the top of the ramp, Silvio throws down his hands, a pair of white pyros going off on either side of him as the house lights come back up. Making his way to the ring, he interacts heavily with the fans, giving them high fives, fist bumps, and taking selfies as he progresses. He does an acrobatic little flip over the top rope before landing on the canvas, striding over to a turnbuckle on the opposite side of the ring as Davie and leaning against it, grinning as he gives his friend a playful little salute.
Artemis Direction: Silvio and Davie seem to be getting closer over the past few shows.
Hiro Suzuki: Yeah, I find it weird they’re trying to relax by fighting each other.
Del Ramos: That’s because you’ve never been in the ring before, Suzuki. Like Artemis was saying, a fight without some bad blood behind it can be fucking boring. But when you do this for a living, fighting becomes another way to communicate. So you can be vicious and bloodthirsty with your match, sure, but you can also use the fight to have a different kind of conversation with your opponent.
They snort derisively, rolling their eyes.
Del Ramos: Not that any other kind of conversation is worth having, but fuck - to each their own.
The two fighters step into the center of the ring together, and Davie extends a hand to Silvio. Grinning, the Oracle takes it, but quickly turns the gesture into something like a ‘secret handshake,’ shifting his grip up before snapping their fingers apart, then going for a fist pound, followed by a fist bump, ending in exploding wiggly fingers as he pulls back. David keeps up for the entire exchange, looking amused. Silvio gives him a wink before the pair lock up, exchanging holds! O’Toole proves to be surprisingly strong, knowing how to use his greater range and wiry frame to his advantage! Whipping Leon into the ropes he catches him with a lariat on the way back. Stunned, Silvio slams onto the mat, blinking as the wind is knocked from him. Not letting off the pressure, Davie doesn’t stop moving, immediately going for a Lionsault and colliding hard with his prone opponent!
Hiro Suzuki: O’Toole’s not wasting a second!
Del Ramos: It’s just what he talked about in his promo. Both of them, actually. David’s fast, efficient, and hard-hitting. Knows how to get from one point to the other with as little fuss as possible.
With his opponent still dazed, O’Toole begins dragging Silvio toward the nearest ring post. As he begins to set him up for a figure-four leg lock around the post, the Oracle motions as if to kick his opponent with his free leg. As Davie ducks away from the feigned kick, Silvio twists his upper body into his opponent’s movement, hitting him with an elbow to the face!
Artemis Direction: Oof! And Silvio showing why a little detour can sometimes pay off!
Davie releases Silvio’s leg, blinking a bit at having his bell rung. As Silvio starts to climb to his feet, however, O’Toole starts to hop up onto the turnbuckle, setting up for a triangle drop kick! Before he can take flight, however, Leon catches hold of his arm, yanking him back down to the mat! David manages to stay on his feet! As he’s about to mount an offense, Leon hops up onto the turnbuckle, still gripping O’Toole’s arm, and sends him tumbling back into the center of the ring with an arm drag! Both fighters climb to their feet again, immediately falling in toward each other and exchanging a series of holds! Undaunted, Davie swings Silvio around again, whipping him into the ropes and going for another lariat that the Oracle rolls under! As he gets to his feet, he and Davie both spin toward each other, simultaneously connecting with mirrored super kicks!
Artemis Direction: Well now!
The crowd roars in approval, the two fighters staggering back a little and watching each other with gleaming eyes and mile-wide smiles. Slowly, the pair begin to circle each other, the crowd clapping a steady rhythm to their steps. Davie moves first, lighting quick as he takes Silvio down in a Forward Russian Legsweep! The Oracle hits the canvas, and Davie looks to capitalize with a standing moonsault! Still hanging in the air, Silvio manages to turn in time, putting up a knee that gets Davie directly in the gut! As O’Toole rolls off of him, clutching his midsection, Silvio grimaces and gets to his feet, pointing at the nearest turnbuckle! Not giving his quicksilver opponent the ghost of an opportunity, he clambors up the post and executes a breath-taking corkscrew shooting star press!
Hiro Suzuki: The Color Out of Space!
Silvio goes for the pin and Godric Smith slides in for the count!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by pinfall, The Oracle, SILVIO LEON!
Artemis Direction: Hunties, I might need to catch my breath after that one!
As Silvio’s arm is raised in victory, he reaches down and helps Davie to his feet, beaming at him. He gives him a fond little nudge on the chin with his fist before raising O’Toole’s hand and gesturing to him. The crowd is on its feet, chanting, ‘SIDE-WIND-ER! SIDE-WIND-ER!’
Artemis Direction: Valentine isn’t full of hot air. David O’Toole is showing he’s certainly someone to watch.
Hiro Suzuki: He’s an easy fighter to get behind!
Del Ramos: He knows what he’s about in there, and scrappy fights can be pretty vicious.
They grin.
Del Ramos: Ohhh and speaking of, our next match has the makings of something truly bloody.
Hiro Suzuki: Drake seemed pretty pissed at the end of our last Collision…
Del’s grin grows.
Del Ramos: I know and that’s just great.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, the following match is set for one fall! Introducing first, from Parts Unknown, she is ‘The Crazy Angel,’ ZEPHYR QUINN!
"Send Me An Angel," rings out as the fans in attendance pop. Zephyr Quinn comes out to the stage, though this time without Belle Silva at her side. A look of pure confidence crosses over Zephyr's face as she strolls to the ring. She hops up lightly onto the apron and poses in the center as the music fades.
Artemis Direction: ...Oh, dear...where’s Belle?
Kevin Kim: And her opponent!
The house lights dim as harsh, stark pulses of white light strobe from the entrance at the top of the ramp. As the beat of London Calling drops, however, the usual wrestler it heralds is nowhere to be found.
Kevin hesitates a moment, but continues with his announcement.
Kevin Kim: Hailing from Tower Hamlets, London, England weighing in at 234lbs, he is The King of Catch, ARTHUR DRAKE!
London Calling continues to play, but Drake does not come down the ramp. Zephyr scowls, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the entrance. Kevin glances to the commentary table and is met with shrugs and baffled looks. Finally, he touches his ear piece and appears to be talking with someone. He pauses, bites his lower lip, and then nods. Clearing his throat, he raises the mic to his mouth.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, our sincerest apologies. It would appear that the King of Catch, Arthur Drake, is not on the premises. Unfortunately until we locate him, we will have to call off this match.
Zephyr throws her arms up in exasperation, and Del lets out a snarl of disbelief.
Del Ramos: OH JUST GO AND FUCKING PISS IN MY CHEERIOS, HUH? GODDAMN TYPICAL!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by forfeit, the Crazy Angel, ZEPHYR QUINN!
Zephyr doesn’t even bother to have her hand raised, turning away from Kim and storming off into the back.
Artemis lets out a little hiss through clenched teeth.
Artemis Direction: Oooh...I don’t believe anyone is happy with this outcome; least of all Zephyr.
Hiro looks back toward the entrance and brightens.
Hiro Suzuki: Ooh I think we might have something to make up for it, though!
Artemis follows his gaze and grins.
Artemis Direction: Well well well! If it isn’t the spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.
The opening scat beat of The Lonely Island’s, “I’m So Humble,” strike as the floor spotlights along the entrance ramp pan upward, and a red floodlight fills the space in between, creating an impromptu Red Carpet. Small strobe lights flash in a mimicry of cameras popping off as the screen above the arena displays golden, angelic wings and the signature initials M.A. in a ruby-red wax seal.
Marcus Afsah, president and CEO of Ascended Wrestling, emerges at the top of the ramp, dressed in a finely tailored maroon suit, a black tie with golden filigree flashing at his throat and polished black oxfords with gold soles. He strolls down the red-carpet ramp at his own pace, taking a pair of gold-rimmed aviators from his breast pocket and sliding them on over his sharp green eyes--he then draws a hand over his salt-and-pepper dark hair, the gold and emerald rings on his fingers catching the glimmers of strobe light, and adjusts his jacket with a casual tug on his way down toward the ring. Pops of gold glitter are sent upward as he reaches the arena floor while the screen displays views of the president’s opulent office, with its fountains, angelic statuaries and gold trim.
The President of Ascended checks the gold Rolex on his wrist as he nears the ring, then gestures for Kevin Kim to hand him a mic as he slips in through the ropes, drumming his fingertips lightly against it while he takes himself to the center of the ring. As his music fades, he turns to address the audience for the first time, a languid smirk finding its way to his offensively handsome face.
Marcus Afsah: So, what do we think? Everybody having fun so far? I’m having a blast.
As the Ascended Army pops, Marcus turns in a slow circle, shifting his weight back and forth with the ease of a man who no longer gives a damn what anyone thinks of him.
Marcus Afsah: What a fantastic start we got here, people. I’m just tickled. We’ve got talent pouring out both ends here--some seriously nail-biting stuff, and some unexpected twists and turns that I didn’t even plan. That’s incredible. I only have one rule for my roster, and that’s don’t be boring--would you say they’re keeping that promise, everybody?
The Army pops again with even greater enthusiasm, a few cheers breaking out for certain members of the roster. Marcus grins, teeth flashing white under the arena lights.
Marcus Afsah: Right, right. That’s what I thought. And now we’re coming up on our very first pay-per-view--Ascension!
The crowd cheers, thundering with anticipation.
Marcus Afsah: So it’s about time we ramp things up.
Responding to Marcus’s wave, referees Jill Kincaid and Gordric Smith join him in the ring--with a few special trophies in tow. Jill carries one belt, and Godric carries two. Marcus points to Jill, who hoists the Emerald City Championship Belt into the air to a roar of excitement from the crowd.
Marcus Afsah: The Emerald City belt is for the peoples’ champion--somebody you can look up to and count on. Well, depending on your taste, I think we have two perfect contenders for that--two contenders who already have a wager riding on their next clash. The first competitors for the Emerald City belt will be Roy Valentine versus the Sidewinder, David O’Toole!
As the crowd roars with approval, Marcus points to Godric Smith and cocks his head to the left. Godric hoists the black and gold Underworld Championship Belt skyward.
Marcus Afsah: Now the two rough customers in line for this puppy--The Underworld Championship-- have some history together. Some unfinished business. Where they came from, they’ve been pulling back and forth like a couple of dogs over a cut of prime steak--they’ve fought each other to a draw not once, but twice, and bled for it profusely. The hardcore instinct for violence runs deep in these two. Well, I’m giving these monsters a chance to finally settle the score. The Underworld Championship is on the line… for the Crazy Angel, Zephyr Quinn, and the Lab Rat King!!
The crowd is no less enthusiastic, though cheers and jeers mingle heavily for the two competitors. Marcus lazily spins to face the other side of the arena, waving to Godric who hoists up the final belt.
The Ascended Wrestling World Championship.
Marcus Afsah: Finally… the World Championship. This belt belongs to the bastard who represents this whole damn outfit. This belt is for the strongest, toughest, most motivated, aggravated, ambitious and vicious leader of the locker room. I have a couple of contenders in mind… a homegrown hero, and the shade of his past mistakes coming for him with mask off.
The crowd starts to swell with cheers and jeers as the Army catches on, chants breaking out all around the arena.
Looking like a lazy, pleased cat, Marcus lifts the mic to his lips with a chuckle.
Marcus Afsah: Yeah that’s it, you got me… goddamn I love some drama. And this little feud keeps getting juicier. The Oracle Silvio Leon will face The Insensate Sebastian Hawke for the World Title!
The crowd explodes with excitement as Marcus’s music starts again. He gives the crowd a lazy salute, tosses the mic back to Kevin Kim (who only fumbles it slightly), and he makes his way back up the ramp. At the top, Jodie Ngyuen waits with a tablet and a steady eye, and he joins her in an inaudible conversation on the way out while the crowd cheers, and the referees exit the ring with the belts.
Del Ramos: Oh fuck yes FUCK YES!
Their eyes are practically embers, their smile positively carnivorous.
Del Ramos: I can’t believe Zephyr Quinn and Lab Rat King are going to conclude things once and for all at Ascended! I can’t fucking wait for that shit!
Hiro Suzuki: Now we know what Valentine was so… smirky about earlier. That adds a whole new wrinkle to the deal he’s proposing to Davie.
Artemis Direction: Oh, my dear child. I know this is what he wanted but... not in this way.
Del Ramos: And just think of the rest of the matches we’re going to get to see! All the new blood! All the monsters and mutilators! All the sweet, vicious brutality!
Hiro Suzuki: Looks like the tag titles aren’t going to be fought for this time around.
Artemis Direction: Still a division we need to build. I doubt it’ll take long for some teams to start forming. If there’s gold to be claimed, people are going to reach for it, darlings.
Del Ramos: All these new faces in the company make for so many opportunities for interesting teams.
Hiro Suzuki: Think we’ll see some opposites attract, or will it be more, ‘bird of a feather flock together’? Hey, that reminds me! What’s black and white and black and white and black and white?
Artemis Direction: I don’t know, sweetling, what?
Hiro Suzuki: A penguin falling down stairs!
Del Ramos: Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? Just put something down for him to trip on at the top of a staircase! He’s a clumsy fuck, anyway. It’s the perfect murder.
Hiro Suzuki: What did you say?
Del Ramos: Nothing. Hey, Hiro, did you know extra long shoelaces are in fashion now with the best-paid comedians?
Hiro Suzuki: Oh, really?
Kevin Kim: Our main event tonight is a singles contest scheduled for one fall. Now entering the ring, from Grand Junction, Colorado, weighing in at 369 lbs, ‘The Eliminator’, SKUP9!
The arena's lights snuff out as a distant voice proclaims:
A chorus of violins and organs rise in the darkness, and the voice speaks again.
Bass and drums reverberate through the speakers, filling the arena. A spotlight kicks in on stage and reveals the hulking silhouette of a man standing before the entrance. The lights flare up and The Eliminator's hands fly into the air. He treads down to the ring with thundering steps, casting a hard gaze across the crowd. Most of the audience shy from his stare. At the ringside, one step takes SKUP9 to the apron, and another takes him over and inside, where he stretches in his corner with eyes locked on the entrance.
Artemis Direction: SKUP9 says he underestimated Zephyr Quinn and it looks like he doesn’t plan on repeating that mistake with Valentine.
Kevin Kim: And his opponent, accompanied tonight by Anastasia Keller; from Cape Elizabeth, Maine, weighing in at 219 lbs, ROY VALENTINE!
Heavy operatic guitar blares through the stadium. The screen follows a trail of twisting, thorny vines as they wind over a pitch-black floor towards the foot of a marble throne. As the thorns begin to engulf the stone, the camera rises to reveal Roy Valentine lying sideways across his marble seat, legs pitched over its arm. The plants trace a deferential space around Valentine, but utterly consume every inch of bare throne. When the vines finally stop twisting, Valentine snaps his fingers and the all-encompassing wall of green bursts into bloom, red and gold roses spelling out the name, “ROY VALENTINE”.
Valentine then makes his entrance in the flesh, struts on stage under a shower of crimson petals. Alongside him stalks his steel wall of an assistant, Anastasia Keller, metal clipboard in hand. Valentine holds a scarlet “Valentine Velvet” rose at his heart, which he tosses into the crowd on his way to the ring, all the while blowing kisses to the adoring--or, perhaps, disgusted--Ascended Army.
Hiro Suzuki: Thistle be an interesting match with how different our fighters are!
Del Ramos: Is anyone else a little weirded out by how obsessed this guy is with David O’Toole?
Artemis: It is a little...unsettling. Especially with that scandal about the disappearance of someone while under his employ.
The fighters meet center-ring and Valentine immediately hits his opponent square in the chest with a vicious open palm chop. The Eliminator does not flinch. Realizing his mistake, Valentine attempts to retreat back to his corner, only for SKUP9 to grab his shoulder and retaliate with a chop of his own that sends Valentine staggering and gasping for breath. SKUP9’s boots make the ring rumble like thunder as he trails his prey into the turnbuckle. With a grin, The Eliminator hoists Valentine over his shoulders and, in a display of strength the titan makes look effortless, spins and biel throws Valentine across the ring! The Perennial Prince crashes to the mat and instinctively arches his back in pain. Leaning over his prostrate opponent, SKUP9 yells, “How’s the dirt taste, rosebud?”
Del Ramos: HA! The big guy is just tossing Valentine around like a ragdoll!
Hiro Suzuki: You ain’t dandelion!
Artemis Direction: Valentine had better pull himself together if he’s going to have a hope in this match!
SKUP9 reaches down and drags Valentine back to his feet. The Eliminator rebounds against the ropes and lays the stunned Valentine flat again in a shoulder block that connects with a resounding smack! He drops to the mat and moves to pin!
One!
Two!
Thr-
Valentine kicks out!
Artemis Direction: That was almost it right there!
Del Ramos: Oooh I bet this is gonna turn into a slaughter! Thanks for comin’ through with the violence, beardo!
Ringside, Keller sets her clipboard against the post in Roy’s corner, plants her hands on the mat, and starts reciting what sounds like a memorized list of reprimands against referee Godric Smith, starting with his “utter ineptitude” in missing how “SKUP9 leveraged his leg against the ropes in that illegal pin”. Godric begins to argue back while Keller leads him to the other side of the ring, tugging on the bottom ropes as if to lend merit to her argument.
Hiro Suzuki: Uh oh. Keller making trouble with the official…
Artemis Direction: Wait a moment - is that her clipboard still leaning on the ring post?
Meanwhile, SKUP9 is back on his feet, and Valentine is crawling towards his corner. The Eliminator glares at his shattered opponent, then turns to the audience with a sneer. He points one finger to Valentine--and thrusts his thumb down, shaking his head. With two quick strides, SKUP9 is above Valentine again and drags him up into the turnbuckle. But a silver light flashes in Valentine’s hands--there’s a metallic crack as Valentine drives Keller’s steel clipboard into SKUP9’s chin, and another when it comes down on The Eliminator’s head as he reels! Valentine whips the clipboard through the ropes before Godric Smith turns back to the action!
Hiro Suzuki: I don’t be-leaf it!
Valentine’s smile to the crowd and outstretched arms are met with a chorus of boo-ing. Before SKUP9 can recover, Valentine zips behind him, grabs his waist, and--face flushed red with strain--lifts The Eliminator from the mat, bringing his tailbone down onto an outstretched knee in an atomic drop! Valentine rushes to the side-ring ropes and climbs up. At the top, he strikes a pose, flexing his biceps for the incensed crowd.
Del Ramos: Ohhh that’s a kinda hate so thick and rich you could pour it over pancakes. Fuckin’ delicious.
The following moments slow to a crawl. Valentine spins around on the top rope. SKUP9 has finally shaken off his opponent’s low blow. The ropes twang as Roy springs off of them, fists clasped together above his head--aimed at The Eliminator’s skull. Down whistles the axe handle--
--and is stopped short when SKUP9’s outstretched hand wraps around Valentine’s throat midair! With a swing, SKUP9 hauls Valentine over his head in a military press! For a silent moment, the entire arena holds its collective breath; then Valentine drops face-first into SKUP9’s rising knee! He crashes to the mat, and when Godric Smith confirms he’s out cold, the bell rings!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by submission, “The Eliminator”, SKUP9!
Del Ramos: Fucking fantastic!
Hiro Suzuki: I think our giant’s really growing on me!
Del Ramos: I’m so fucking happy after that match and knowing what kind of championship fights we’re gonna see, I’m gonna let that lameness slide, Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: Aw, really? You’ve made my daisy!
Del Ramos: ...Nah, you ruined it. Prepare for pain.
Artemis Direction: See you all at Ascension, Ascended Army!
The broadcast flickers to the washed-out feed of a security camera surveying one of the back hallways of the Colosseum. Valentine has just started to pass through its view, his assistant just off to one side.
Anastasia Keller: The Emerald City belt. Are we ready, sir?
Roy Valentine: It may not fit our initial designs… but, so long as O’Toole responds–
There's a short, sharp whistle from down the hall.
??: Ey, Valentine!
David enters the camera’s sight, purposeful, but pauses briefly to wait.
Roy Valentine: Speak of the devil. David, my boy, what brings you here?
Valentine beckons with a flourish of his hand. David approaches, hands in his pockets, his face set as flint, giving Valentine a long look.
David O’Toole: Got some damn nerve, I'll give you that.
Roy Valentine: Ah, I see that little stunt with Miss Silva caught your attention. It is fortuitous that Mister Leon left you conscious; I do hate repeating myself.
David O’Toole: The hell is your game here? I tell you no, and you go airing this out here.
Roy Valentine: You gave me no such refusal. That besides, why did you bring that contract with you, if not to consider the offer?
David O’Toole: Call it morbid curiosity. But what about what I said did not read to you as a refusal?
Roy Valentine: Leaving without saying ‘no.’
David's grit wavers, just for a moment.
David O’Toole: … Okay. Maybe I didn't say no as such, that’s on me. But you really actually thought this kind of pull would change my mind?
Roy Valentine: Here you are.
David O'Toole: ‘Cause you called me out, not because I’ve changed my mind.
There is a pause—David shifts back on his heels, remaining stoic, but the serrated edge is less.
David O’Toole: So you want an answer.
Roy Valentine: I want what is best for you, David. That match with Mister Leon was a travesty. Your opponent took advantage of your poor form time and again. You left openings fit for a whale, let alone a man.
David O’Toole: Sorry, which match were you watching?
Roy Valentine: The least you can do is offer me the courtesy of a response: if not to my initial offer, then to the challenge as was laid out on Miss Silva’s program. Marcus has seen to it that you have more to gain now than ever before.
David O’Toole: And I need to give an answer for either of us to get on the next card. If you'll deign to sit where I'm sitting for a sec—assuming I'm kinda tight on goodwill, what else would possibly compel me to actually give you an answer?
Roy Valentine: Think of your future, David. Though you seem disinterested in the title belt—for the best, considering your slim chances of victory—I doubt you have fond memories of life on the road. A brief respite at Ascended; then, what? Back to the automotive shops? Risk another Cambridge fiasco?
Before he can stop it, David’s expression drops to blank, startled surprise. After a moment he regains some of his standing, though less assured than before, and he thinks.
David O’Toole: One condition.
Roy Valentine: Name it.
David O’Toole: If I accept the challenge, and I end up losing, I'm signing off on the contract as it was presented to me. No additions, no updates, no tweaks, just the version of the document that you gave me.
Silent static fills the camera feed as Valentine pauses, stroking his chin. Leaning into Valentine’s ear, Keller murmurs something too quiet for the feed to capture, to which Valentine sighs and shakes his head. He offers a hand for David to shake.
Roy Valentine: That is… agreeable. Then, you accept?
David watches his hand for a long moment. He takes a deep breath.
David O’Toole: Yes.
He pulls his hand from his jacket pocket– and drops something that bounces off the floor with a few metallic tinks before ricocheting off the wall and landing back at David's feet. Puzzled, he gets to one knee to pick it up—the camera can't quite capture it in detail, but it's definitely gold around red, with a tiny red glint in the center. Quickly he sticks it back in his pocket as he stands, and regains his composure.
David O’Toole: Deal.
He shakes Valentine’s hand. Valentine grins.
Roy Valentine: Watch your footing there, David.
David O’Toole: Yeah, I'm fine.
He breaks the handshake, and takes a step back.
David O’Toole: Sounds like we've got us a scrap. ‘Til then, sir, Miz Keller–
He gives them a nod in turn, then makes to walk past them out towards the exit. Valentine and Keller exchange a look.
Roy Valentine: Did you hear that? Sir. By god, Anastasia, perhaps we have him after all.
Credits
Fancy Pants Mansion Intro - Roy Valentine
WildStar & Wildheart - WildStar and Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston
Wildheart vs. Brawn Johnson & promo - Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston
LRK vs. The Pit - Zephyr Quinn
Beyond the Belle - Zephyr Quinn, Marcus Afsah/LRK, and Roy Valentine
Reaction - David O’Toole and Silvio Leon
Announcement - Marcus Afsah/LRK
SKUP9 vs. Roy Valentine - Roy Valentine
Post-Credits - Roy Valentine and David O’Toole
Everything Else - Ampersand
And a special thank you to the folks who helped me judge RPs in which I was unable due to my participation in them, or because all of my writers are intensely talented and I needed second opinions.
I got a hunger
I gotta feed my soul
The gates are open
So release the bulls
We see images of WildStar filing through some records at a music store, smiling fondly as he picks up a copy of Sleater-Kinney’s, ‘Call the Doctor.’ The scene fades and we see Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston pummeling a punching bag, eyes intense, skin sheened with sweat. Bill ‘The Pit’ Woods’ face, masked in its monstrous persona, stands out in the dark, eerily illuminated by the light of a single match that he blows out. The darkness resolves into a night sky, stars pricking out little points of light revealing the swaying shadows of towering pines, the Lab Rat King seated at the foot of an immense cedar, gaze angled upward.
Don't hold me back no more
Unleash the beast inside
Stand up with my pride
I was born to tow the line
I’m ready to light the fire inside
We are legends
Tonight's the night, yeah
We are legends
Tonight's the night, yeah
So come along with me
'Cause we're making history, yeah
We are legends
The Oracle turns and grins at the camera before winking. The camera blinks to black along with him, the next image flickering to life being Zephyr Quinn standing with Belle Silva on the waterfront, the Seattle Great Wheel turning behind them. The lights flicker again, the image distorting, and when it’s clear, Zephyr is standing alone. Zipping downward, the view shows an area below the pier, a focus on the back of Arthur Drake as he spray paints a bright red, ‘A’ within a circle. The viewer’s gaze becomes dominated by that red, letting it fill up the camera before it draws back, showing SKUP9 clutching the head of a rose of the same color in one hand. He scowls at it momentarily before snapping his hand closed into a fist.
Tonight
A legend is born
Tonight
History is made
Tonight!
As the camera plays over the audience, several of the signs stand out.
BEWARE OF BRIDGE TROLLS!
I FELL INTO THE PIT AND ALL I GOT WAS AN ICU STAY!
ELIMINATE! ELIMINATE! ELIMINATE!
WILDHEARTS RUN FREE!
The view switches to the commentary table where Artemis Direction, Del Ramos, and Hiro Suzuki are seated behind their microphones.
Hiro Suzuki: Good evening, Ascended Army! Tonight we--
The stage screen fades to black as “Spring” from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” blares over the arena’s speakers.
Artemis Direction: What on Earth…
Del Ramos: Thank Satan - Valentine already shut Suzuki up.
An aerial shot of Roy Valentine’s sunlit mansion fades back in: a bizarre architectural affair, like a circle of stone cottages connected by some mad designer long after the initial construction. “The Valentine Estate” appears, written letter by letter in classic copperplate script, over the steadily rotating image. Another fade takes the camera within the mansion, faced with a portrait in the likeness of Roy Valentine on an ivy-wrapped marble throne, wrapped in a regal golden cloak. A red-robed Valentine walks in shot and, after a moment spent appraising his painting, faces the camera.
Roy Valentine: A pleasure to be with you all tonight, Ascended Army. While I understand your anticipation for my incumbent in-ring victory over that behemoth SKUP9, I come before you now to deliver another reason to celebrate. Later in our program, I have scheduled a return to Miss Belle Silva’s segment, Beyond the Bell, to deliver what I believe will become the most celebrated announcement in the current history of Ascended Wrestling; an exposé which may shake the foundations of your trust in one of this federation’s beloved ‘heroes’.
Valentine hoists his golden chalice to the audience.
Roy Valentine: Until then, my dears: let there be Collision!
As the video fades out, Hiro looks on with a slightly sour expression.
Hiro Suzuki: ...Like I was saying - we’ve got a great card for you tonight!
Artemis Direction: We have an injection of new talent for our first two matches! How exciting! The utterly enchanting Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston, and the venerable veteran looking to turn over a new leaf, WildStar!
Del Ramos: I wanna see what they’re made of. Hopefully one of them will have a taste for blood.
Hiro looks a bit squeamish, shaking his head.
Hiro Suzuki: If they don’t, the match that follows those two will definitely have its fair share of blood and brutality. We have The Pit versus Lab Rat King.
Del’s eyes light up with bloodthirsty glee.
Del Ramos: I must’ve done something right in this life to receive that gift tonight. Monster versus monster! That’s my kinda fight.
Artemis Direction: It’s technically a standard rules match, but I get the feeling we’re going to get a taste of the Underworld with those two. Thankfully we have a couple of angels fighting in our next bout.
Del Ramos: O'Toole and Leon? I’d like to see those two get a little more vicious in the ring, but I gotta respect a couple of kids just fighting for the sake of fighting.
Hiro Suzuki: Huh! Reminds me of why I go fishing.
Artemis Direction: Oh, really, darling?
Hiro Suzuki: Well, some folks go fishing for something specific, but me? I just go for the halibut!
Del Ramos: After I kill you, I will eat your eyes first.
Artemis Direction: Following some of our cutest combatants, we have a couple of tough as nails fighters! Zephyr Quinn continues to dominate as a hardcore goddess, but Arthur Drake is no one to be underestimated.
Del Ramos: Which brings us to our final match of the night - SKUP9 and Roy Valentine.
Artemis Direction: It’s an interesting match-up. Roy has finesse, technique, and experience, but SKUP9 is no one to take lightly. He’s gigantic, first of all, and absolutely tenacious.
Hiro Suzuki: He is a bear of a man! Say, what do you call a grizzly in a phone booth?
Del Ramos: Shut your fucking noise hole or I will be forced to rend open my Necronomicon, invoke the Hellish forces straight out of Satan’s anus, turning the sky to flies and the sea to blood, as I open all of my mouths and sing the song that will end the world.
Hiro Suzuki: Stuck!
Del Ramos: Let the record fucking show that the invocation of Armageddon rests on the shoulders of this walking embodiment of human mediocrity.
Artemis Direction: Del, sweetling, need I remind you of the embargo on using black magics while on the job?
Del heaves an exasperated sigh.
Del Ramos: Fine. I’ll do it on the weekend but only if I can schedule it around my pottery class.
Hiro Suzuki: You take a pottery class?
Del Ramos: I will never expand upon that comment.
Kevin Kim: Good evening Ascended Army! Our first match of the evening is scheduled for one fall! Already in the ring with me and referee Jill Kincaid, weighing in at 255lbs, he is Biff Jerky! And his opponent!
As REM’s Superman hits, the Titan-tron lights up with a highlight reel of wrestling clips, all displaying a dark-haired man as he appears to work across multiple decades, accruing accolades along his journey.
Kevin Kim: Now approaching the ring from Wilmington, Delaware weighing in at 225 lbs, making his Ascended Wrestling debut, he is WILDSTAR!
WildStar slowly walks out and scans the audience. He wears a European singlet with a Pixies logo printed across the front. Picking up the pace, he slaps high fives with fans on his way to the ring, even pausing to give a fist bump to a kid in an oversized shirt with his face printed across it. He climbs between the second and third ropes, does a judo roll, and then stretches by placing one foot on the top rope before alternating to the other.
Artemis Direction: You know, I find WildStar’s motivation to be so admirable. It’s good to have someone who understands the sort of impact they can have as a role model; especially for their children.
Del Ramos: There’s nothing more brutal than parenthood. Imagine some horrifying chimera that’s half you, half your partner, staring back at you with your own goddamn face. And all it can do is scream and excrete substances you didn’t even know fucking existed, and you know that that’s just the beginning of an 18-year-long journey where the horrifying Frankenstein’s monster fusion of you and your partner is going to discover all kinds of ways to make you question your sanity and the very fabric of reality itself. Infants are tiny fucking elder gods and you can’t convince me otherwise.
DING DING!
WildStar begins the match by approaching Jerky, hand extended in a show of good sportsmanship. Rolling his eyes, Biff swats away the hand, causing a chorus of, ‘Oooo’s’ from the crowd as he turns his back on his opponent shaking his head. Shrugging, WildStar taps his opponent on the shoulder. Biff turns around just in time to be on the receiving end of a spinning backfist that sends him staggering!
Artemis Direction: Looks like Biff’s paying for his insult!
Hiro Suzuki: Did you hear the one about the cowboy that died with his boots on?
Del seems hesitant to shoot down a joke about death.
Del Ramos: ...This is a trap.
Hiro Suzuki: He didn’t want to stub his toe when he kicked the bucket!
Del Ramos: This is why I have trust issues.
Annoyed, Jerky snarls and comes back at WildStar, taking him more seriously and locking up! The pair shift back and forth, testing each other’s strength! Biff gains the upper hand, spinning and whipping WildStar into the ropes, sending him to the mat with a clothesline!
Del Ramos: WildStar might have a little ring rust to shake off.
Artemis Direction: Don’t count him out just yet, though. You don’t earn the kinds of accolades WildStar has without cultivating some genuine skill. I simply can’t believe that it just goes away. And anyway, I don’t think I could bear it if someone as tacky as Biff wins this.
Taunting his opponent with derisive laughter, Biff leans over to pull him up to his feet. No sooner does WildStar have his feet on the ground, however, than he uses the close proximity to stun Biff with a headbutt! Jerky wobbles, surprised, but WildStar isn’t done, quickly shifting his grip to take Biff down with a swift German suplex! Holding him in a bridge, WildStar goes for the pin!
One!
Two--
Kick-out from Jerky!
Del Ramos: WildStar showing some of his wiles there, luring Biff into a false sense of security.
Incensed, Jerky is the first to get himself upright, catching hold of WildStar’s hair and hitting him in the face with a brutal forearm strike! As WildStar hits the canvas, Biff climbs to his feet and goes for an elbow drop, only to have his opponent roll out of the way!
Hiro Suzuki: Oof! I bet Biff’s feeling that one!
Artemis Direction: WildStar’s being clever in the ring!
As Biff groans, clutching his elbow, WildStar takes to the nearest turnbuckle! The audience gets to their feet, roaring encouragement as the veteran ascends, turns, and executes a glorious 5-Star Frog Splash to a thunderous pop! Rather than go for the pin, however, he seems to go for a little insurance, pulling Jerky up to his feet and slamming him back into the mat with a Michinoku Driver!
Del Ramos: He calls that vicious piece of work the WildDriver!
And WildStar goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Hiro Suzuki: Guess he put Jerky out to pasture!
Del Ramos: Ugh.
Artemis Direction: An admirable showing from one of our newest Ascended Gladiators! I’m interested to see what WildStar will be doing in our upcoming pay-per-view!
Del Ramos: Ohhh yeah, Afsah’s going to be making some announcements about that tonight.
Artemis Direction: It’s an important show - our first champions will be crowned there!
Hiro Suzuki: You know what you get when you mix a crown with two tanks and a tasty noodle dish?
Del Ramos: I wish the earth would just open up beneath us and swallow us all into the abyss before you open your cake hole again.
Hiro Suzuki: King Twotankramen!
Artemis Direction: Hmm. I’d work on that one a little more, sweetheart.
Del Ramos: We’ll get to see Ascended’s belts in person for the first time. Who do you think Afsah will pick to fight for them?
Artemis Direction: It’s a bit hard to say right now. The company’s new enough where win-loss records hold a little less weight at this point. I’m sure that will change as time goes on, but knowing Marcus’ desperation to avoid boredom, he’s likely to choose whoever has the juiciest drama going on.
Artemis shrugs daintily and looks over her manicure.
Artemis Direction: Which I completely understand! A fight without a little drama behind it is like lime and salt without tequila! Like an evening of karaoke without an 80s power ballad! Like a drag show without glitter beards and press-on nails!
Del Ramos: Like a death metal album without subliminal Satanic messages.
Artemis Direction: Precisely, my bloodthirsty belle! It simply lacks that special something.
Hiro Suzuki: Speaking of special, I’ve been looking forward to our next match! Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston showed some serious moxie in her promo!
Artemis Direction: Oh, agreed! I’m so pleased we have her on the roster. I can’t wait to see what she has to show us!
Del Ramos: According to the backstage staff, looks like we might get a little sneak peak from the back right now.
We open on Amelia “Wildheart” Winston, dressed for in-ring action, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders as she walks down the hall, the long walk towards the gorilla position. As she nears the sound of a throat clearing is heard, Amelia’s gaze turning to her right, the camera panning along with her, focusing on WildStar, leaning against the wall with a bemused expression on his face.
WildStar: You must be Wildheart.
Amelia Winston: And you’re WildStar. Nice to meet you. How’s the family?
WildStar: Oh, we're doing real well. My wife and I scouted out some Montesorri school's around here today for my son. If you have any good suggestions on where my son can receive a progressive education yet one founded in the basics of learning, I'm all ears. Debut match, you ready?
Amelia nods, looking a little wary.
Amelia Winston: Yup, gonna go slap a Johnson around. And I immediately regret putting it that way.
WildStar: Word of advice from a veteran: when you’re facing someone with a dick name, be very precise with your phrasing.
Amelia can’t help but break into a little grin, WildStar doing the same after a moment.
Amelia Winston: So, are we gonna have to fight about the whole ‘two people with Wild in their names’ thing?
A moment’s pause before WildStar shrugs.
WildStar: Nah, I’m sure we’ll end up facing off someday but I’m not getting bent outta shape over this.
Amelia Winston: Appreciated. Besides, I’ve already got my hands full tonight.
WildStar: Again, phrasing.
Amelia Winston: Goddammit. I’m just gonna go kick Brawn’s ass.
WildStar: Better. Give ‘em hell, kid.
The two share a fist bump before Amelia resumes her walk down the hall, WildStar watching her go as we fade to black.
Kevin Kim: Our next match is a standard singles rules match scheduled for one fall! Already in the ring, weighing in at 255 lbs, Brawn Johnson! And his opponent…
The lights dim, strobing along with the intro of "Black Sheep", Amelia standing at the top of the entrance ramp, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. The first verse hits and the lights come up brighter, still strobing a bit with the tune as she makes her way down to the ring, a bit of strut in her march. She sprints the last few yards, diving in under the bottom rope and rolling to her feet, climbing onto the ropes to cut a pose for the hard camera as the lights come back to full normal before jumping down from the ropes, ready for her bout.
Kevin Kim: Hailing from Belleville, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 157 lbs, she is AMELIA “WILDHEART” WINSTON!
Del Ramos: Brawn Johnson with an almost hundred pound weight advantage over Winston.
Hiro Suzuki: Wildheart says her speed and technique can make up the difference. I guess we’re going to find out if she’s right!
DING DING!
Amelia moves towards Brawn in the middle of the ring, looking to lock up as Brawn smirks a little before playfully pie-facing the smaller woman as the crowd boos.
Artemis Direction: Absolute disrespect from Johnson!
Brawn moves to pie-face Amelia again but before he can she catches him with a quick left jab to the chin, staggering the bigger man before turning so that she can give him a round kick square in the ass, sending him staggering a few more steps.
Artemis Direction: And Winston shows she’s not going to take it without giving back some of her own!
Hiro Suzuki: I hope Brawn Johnson doesn’t get butthurt about her reply!
Brawn takes a swing at Amelia and she ducks it, executing a go behind before grabbing a headlock. The two begin to trade wrestling holds, Amelia clearly a step quicker, constantly countering Brawn everytime he looks to reverse one of her maneuvers until Brawn finally has to get to the ropes after Amelia takes him down with a drop toe hold before looking to sink in a leglock!
Del Ramos: So far Winston is doing just what she said she’d do. Gotta love a fighter who can walk the walk and not just talk the talk.
Hiro Suzuki: So far she’s up on points! Which, if my notes are correct, doesn’t actually count for anything.
Amelia releases her hold as soon as referee Godric Smith begins counting, rolling back from Johnson as he scrambles to his feet at the ropes. Brawn turns and charges her with a clothesline, which Amelia ducks at a run, leaping to the middle rope before launching herself backwards, twisting and catching Brawn with a flying armdrag that sends him rolling across the ring. Brawn gets back to his feet at the ropes on the opposite side, just in time to eat a running dropkick that sends him tumbling to the floor.
Artemis Direction: Brawn Johnson needs to regroup for a second here, but I don’t think Wildheart plans to let him!
Wildheart takes a moment to pump up the crowd, the Ascended faithful clapping as she hits the ropes opposite of Brawn before charging full speed and wiping the big man out with a suicide dive through the ropes! Winston pops to her feet with a roar, stalking Brawn as he starts to stumble up. Amelia grabs him from behind, clasping his right wrist with her left hand before pulling him around, looking for the ripcord knee that makes up half of her Moneymaker combo. As she turns Brawn he brings his free hand up, raking the face of Winston who releases him, stumbling backwards as Brawn scrambles back into the ring.
Del Ramos: Desperation move by Brawn Johnson; if she’d hit that ripcord knee and fameasser combo on the floor Winston might’ve been able to just roll into the ring and let the ref count to ten.
Winston quickly hops back onto the ring apron, clearly seething. Brawn charges but Amelia meets him coming with shoulder to his midsection between the ropes before pulling him headfirst between the top and middle ropes, gripping him in a clinch before starting to pummel him with knees as the referee begins his count.
Artemis Direction: Winston is doing damage with each one of those rapid-fire strikes!
Amelia breaks when the ref gets to four before grabbing the dazed Brawn by the head in a reverse DDT position, the big man still halfway over the middle rope, before pivoting and dropping hard, smashing him across the jaw with her elbow as she sits out on the apron!
Del Ramos: Marie Antoinette Special in the ropes!
Hiro Suzuki: I know the line is ‘Let them eat cake!’ but Brawn might not be able to handle anything but soup after that!
Brawn flops down out of the ropes, on his back on the mat as he holds his head and neck. Amelia takes a second to note his position before scrambling to the top rope, checking the spot once more before connecting with the 630 senton!
Artemis Direction: Wild At Heart! Amelia Winston got all of it!
Winston quickly scrambles into a lateral press position on Brawn, nodding along with a grin as the referee counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Artemis Direction: A big, decisive victory for Winston in her debut!
Hiro Suzuki: I can’t remember the last time I saw a Johnson beaten so thoroughly!
Del Ramos: … I bet you can’t.
Amelia allows the referee to raise her hand before moving to Kevin Kim, asking for the mic before nodding in thanks as it’s handed to her before turning to address the crowd, still catching her breath a little.
Amelia Winston: Hey Seattle, I think I’m gonna like it here.
She grins at the crowd as she gets some applause for her victory.
Amelia Winston: Wrestling fans, I have a confession to make. I’ve been feeling something ever since I arrived in this city, ever since I knew I’d be making my debut here. It’s… it’s like a thirst. Not talking about thirsty like when I see Kyle Beckett warming up backstage.
Amelia wiggles her eyebrows playfully for the camera before shrugging.
Amelia Winston: No, it’s something else, something different. I know I missed the initial rush by like 170 years, but just like all those folks did I’ve made the trek west because I want some gold, baby! I am here because I want to be the very best in Ascended and when the time comes I want the belt that says I am just that. So Seattle, thanks for the good time, the first of many! And Ascended? Maybe someone with more talent than Brawn next time, eh?
Amelia tosses the mic back to Kevin Kim, giving a quick bow for the crowd as her music begins to play, rolling out of the ring and heading up the ramp, pausing for a selfie with a few fans along the way.
Artemis Direction: How absolutely marvelous!
Del Ramos: The lady knows what she wants and I think she might just be able to get it if we see more from her like this.
Hiro shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
Hiro Suzuki: Could we bring her back? I mean, heck, she’s such a ray of sunshine and uh...you know, I’m not really ready to watch this next match.
Del Ramos: Fuck you and your pansy ass weak stomach, Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: It’s just...it’s one thing to have a single monster like one of our next opponents in the ring. It’s another to have two of them! Is there even going to be a ring after they’re done with it?!
Del Ramos: If the ring breaks, we wrestle in the ruins!
Kevin Kim: The following match is scheduled for one fall! Entering the ring first, from Houston, Texas weighing in at 267lbs, he is Bill Woods, THE PIT!
The lights go out in the arena as "Sail" by Jack Trammell begins playing over the PA system. A single strobe light shines down as Bill Woods is raised from a platform below the entrance stage to the entrance ramp. Bill stands at the top of the entrance ramp in his wrestling gear, his head lowered, a large towel covering his face. Bill's left-hand fidgets and twitches nervously, and in his right hand, he's holding a nightmarish mask. He appears to be talking to himself, and several times his left-hand flashes upward and he hits himself in the face, nearly knocking the towel off each time.
Hiro Suzuki: That can’t be healthy!
As "Sail" reaches the forty-second mark and the bass drops, Bill dramatically flings the towel off of his head and puts on his mask, screaming at the top of his lungs to herald the arrival of "The Pit". Bill runs to the ring maniacally and runs the ropes like he's possessed. His movements become jerky and unpredictable, as he waits for the arrival of The Lab Rat King.
Kevin Kim: And his opponent!
The screens display a flickering, static-struck screen with the crowned rat logo, bone-white over a black and red spattered background as the first riffs of "Hail to the King" begin playing; when the first heavy thrums of rhythm guitar in the music strike, the logo shudders and glitches, electricity running through it from left to right like a broken heartbeat. Below the screens the entrance is flooded with rolling fog cast in blood-red light and white strobe lights that match the beat of the song and of the electric shock waves on the screen.
Kevin Kim: From Portland, Oregon, weighing in at 285lbs, he is the LAB RAT KING!
Where once the Lab Rat King would enter in chains, he now walks freely, his slow and deliberate steps taking him down toward the ring. There's something bestial about the way he moves, like an animated gargoyle; he's accompanied by his wife and valet, Grace King, who seems to keep him from lunging at the jeering crowd with nothing but a hand on his arm and a smirk of her own.
Once he reaches the ropes, Grace cranes up to give him a kiss on the muzzle, and he moves almost animalistically onto the mat, standing up slowly. Upon his arrival, The Pit motions for LRK to get into the right, sitting on the second rope. Lab Rat King eyes The Pit holding open the ropes for him, snarls slightly, and gets into the ring on the opposite side.
Artemis Direction: It looks like LRK isn’t interested in social niceties.
Hiro shakes his head, complexion pale.
Hiro Suzuki: Yeah, The Pit’s a real gentleman.
DING DING!
As soon as the bell rings, The Pit charges for LRK! Thinking quickly, LRK sidesteps The Pit, sending him shoulder-first into the corner! Kane quickly takes advantage and pulls The Pit out and lands headbutt after headbutt into the shoulder that tasted the turnbuckle!
Artemis Direction: Right away we see King capitalizing on any advantage he can!
Del Ramos: Heh! Seconds into the match and he’s already got an injured body part to work! I get the feeling it’s going to take a lot more punishment before The Pit can even feel it, though. GO FOR BLOOD, KING!
King eases up for just a second and pays for it as The Pit explodes out of the corner with a hard clothesline, seemingly shaking off the previous attack! LRK goes down hard, but quickly gets to all fours and then back to his feet, only for The Pit to meet him toe to toe. The staredown is an intense ten seconds before the two lay into each other with rights and lefts! The monsters take a turn getting the advantage before The Pit lands a thumb to the eye of LRK!
Hiro lets out a sympathetic cry, one hand going to his own eye.
Hiro Suzuki: Ooh I hate it when they go for the eyes!
Artemis Direction: Not the most sportsman-like way to go about this, but it gets the job done.
Del Ramos: These two understand what it means to fight. You do whatever you have to do to lay your opponent out. Fuck these standard rules matches - I want these two in an Underworld rules match! I wanna see what The Pit can do when he’s given some instruments to let his creativity run wild with.
The Pit backs up and gets a running start, swatting at King with a big boot! The blow lands on the side of LRK’s jaw, spinning King around! Taking advantage, The Pit hits a hard elbow to the lower back of LRK, bringing him down to a knee! The Pit runs the ropes and leaps toward LRK, only for King to get to his feet and catch The Pit, slamming him down with a spinning sidewalk slam!
Artemis Direction: My goodness! The absolute physicality of this match!
Del Ramos: It’s like watching two sides of beef jousting against each other and I’m fucking here for it.
Neglecting to go for the pin, LRK quickly picks The Pit up and drops him with a shoulder breaker! LRK isn’t done there as he stands back up with The Pit and lands another shoulder breaker! King lets The Pit fall and puts all his weight on The Pit’s shoulder, going for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE… NO!
At the last moment, The Pit gets his opposite shoulder up, breaking the pin!
Hiro looks downright disturbed.
Hiro Suzuki: What’s it going to take to keep this guy down?!
Artemis Direction: Maybe more than what King has to offer.
Del Ramos: EAT EACH OTHER’S HEARTS!!
LRK snarls and whips The Pit to his feet. King delivers a boot to the gut of The Pit and sets him up for the Empty, Hollow, Thud! The Pit fights back with rights and lefts to King’s head, but LRK isn’t having any of it as he runs to the corner and powerbombs The Pit into the top turnbuckle! He isn’t done and keeps ahold of The Pit, spinning him around and dropping him with the Empty, Hollow, Thud! LRK goes for the cover and Jill Kincaid slides in to make the count!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by pinfall, THE LAB RAT KING!
Del is cackling mirthfully.
Del Ramos: FUCK YES! Ohhh and the best part is you know this ain’t the last time. The Pit’s the kind of dude who thrives off of this kind of violence. You can see it by watching him work. He’s definitely going to want to indulge in some of this choice clobbering again! I fucking love every monstrous bastard we have here.
Hiro Suzuki: I’m just relieved it’s over. Hey, where do you find monster snails?
Artemis Direction: Monster snails? I’m not sure, darling, where?
Hiro Suzuki: At the end of a monster’s fingers!
Del gives Hiro a perplexed look for a moment before the wordplay dawns on them, after which a quiet, quavering rage begins to take hold of them, their face beginning to purple.
Artemis Direction: And now we take you backstage with Ascended’s newest interviewer, Belle Silva, for her segment, ‘Beyond the Belle!’
A backstage view of the Ascended arena appears on screen, revealing a modest stage of two chairs, a single floodlight, and a simple gray backdrop. In one seat sits Belle Silva, head low, looking nervous. Across from her is Roy Valentine, tonight wearing a robe of black silk embroidered with petite emerald birds over his wrestling attire. A crimson rose pin with gold trim adorns his lapel; a ruby at its centre glimmers in the stage lights. Behind him, wrapped in her typical layer of silent stoicism, stands Valentine's assistant, Anastasia Keller.
Belle coughs softly to clear her throat, crosses her legs, and begins.
Belle Silva: Good evening, Ascended Army! I am seated with Roy Valentine who has asked for this time. Now, Mr. Valentine, what made you request this time? I was under the impression that you weren’t going to make announcements on my show?
Roy Valentine: I believe, Miss Silva, you may recall that specific quotation referring to an instance under which I would announce my gaining a protégé. Under the circumstances, I find your… modest… platform perfectly suited to my needs. I have not come today to make any such announcement—though, yes, the subject matter is related.
Belle Silva: Did something happen recently that changed your mind?
Roy Valentine: In a manner of speaking. But forgive my riddles a moment longer; first, I must provide context for my appearance tonight. Following the events at Collision Three, I met a young man who positively enthralled me. This young man, I thought to myself during the ride home, has bite. He has skill, style, and intellect, within and without the ropes. I saw the potential for a future World Champion in his wiry little frame.
Here, Valentine sighs as his eyes drift from Belle; he stares, not entirely present, beyond the walls of the set.
Roy Valentine: Note that word: potential. There are… inconsistencies, shall we say, in his fighting form which require attention. And I, in a rare philanthropic mood, was moved to believe that I could help tighten those few loose bolts—before they prove fatal to his career.
Belle opens her mouth to say something but is quickly overtaken by Valentine.
Roy Valentine: So I invited him to dinner chez moi. A banquet, we shared that night! We broke bread and enjoyed the delights of fine food, pleasant company, and casual business. And for dessert? Well, only the sweetest cherry on the cake of that evening. I offered this young man my services, in the form of a training contract: I would provide him the wealth and experience of the Valentine Estate and its members, if he would stand by my side as pupil and peer. Physical therapists, dieticians, in-ring and vocal instructors—not to mention a King’s ransom in an annual budget for promotions; I offered him my entire world. The perfect fertilizer for an award-winning seedling. How, then, do you think he responded? He had the gall, did young David O’Toole, to insult me in my own home and storm off without an answer.
Belle Silva: So is David O’Toole the reason you asked for this ti…
Belle is once again interrupted by her interviewee.
Roy Valentine: Today, I come before you to demand that answer in stark terms. David, my boy, the roads which have led us to the halls of the Ascended may be distant, but they run parallel. We are kin, you and I: we are warriors of exceptional caliber. Ah, is that your laughter I hear from the locker room? I know you harbor little respect for me. I have no doubt you consider me a mediocre talent among the ranks of Ascended. But should I prove tonight to be mediocre—and we all know that I will prove precisely the opposite—know that I am the mediocre talent who fought you to a draw.
His teeth gleam in his signature smile of self-satisfaction.
Roy Valentine: Where does that place you? Please, take the moment to compute.
Valentine raises a glove to the camera and, delicately sliding its fingers from his hand, removes it, stands, and throws it to the ground.
Roy Valentine: I shall offer you that contract once more in terms you can understand. I challenge you to prove to me that you are a capable and valuable member of this roster. Show me your skill, David. Show me your fury. Show to me and the Ascended Army that you can stand among titans. Your victory will convince everyone in the arena, including myself, that you do not require my help. But should you lose, you will accept the contract and all it entails, and allow me to refine you into the fighter you deserve to be. I may also forgive you your crude manners. My offer stands until the first rays of dawn shine above the eastern horizon. Be swift, David; and do not be as foolish as when last we met. I am offering you a guaranteed future in this federation—the means to ensure dear Marcus’s continued interest. Certainly, you do not wish to return to your previously nomadic life. Be assured that after a taste of what I can offer, you will be begging for tenure within the Valentine Estate.
??: Regarding Mr. Afsah’s continued interest, Mr. Valentine.
Standing in the nearby doorway, having made her approach during Valentine’s address, is Jodie Ngyuen—representative of the president of Ascended Wrestling itself, who has not deigned to descend from lazing about on his piles of gold.
Jodie nods to Belle Silva before redirecting her attention back to Roy Valentine, a clipboard and tablet under her arm.
Jodie Ngyuen: Pardon the interruption, Ms. Silva. I’m here on behalf of my employer to discuss a proposition he would like to put forward.
Her expression remains passive, dark eyes fixed on the head of the Estate.
Jodie Ngyuen: Regarding your confluences with Mr. O’Toole, Mr. Valentine.
Valentine whirls on his heels, eyebrows high in surprise.
Roy Valentine: Ms Ngyuen—so good of you to join us. Please, by all means; I am certain the viewers are on the edge of their seats with your timely arrival.
Jodie approaches Valentine’s side and hands him the clipboard along with a gold-inlaid pen bearing the president’s initials--M.A.--and indicates the attached document, allowing Valentine the opportunity to look it over.
Jodie Ngyuen: If you would.
Valentine’s eyes flick between Jodie and the clipboard as he takes it gingerly in hand. Reading through the document, his smile grows wide, teeth gleaming bright to the camera. Over his shoulder, Keller’s glasses shine as she struggles to sneak a look.
Roy Valentine: Marcus! You little flirt. There are easier ways to earn my attention, you know. In that vein, Jodie, if Marcus would like to speak on this matter further, let him know that he has an open invitation to the fête I am hosting tonight.
And, with a flick of Valentine’s wrist, the document is signed. Valentine returns it and the pen to Jodie. She slips the clipboard back underneath her tablet with an affirmative nod.
Jodie Ngyuen: Mr. Afsah had me schedule a block of several hours this evening which he asked me to label “Fuck-around time”, which I can only assume is his current way of making himself available for non-business engagements. I’ll inform him of the invitation. Knowing his typical habits, I suspect if you’re pouring a decent vintage of red wine and intend to shower him with personal attention, he’s inclined to show up. He’ll be late, of course, but I don’t think that’s a shock to anyone.
Roy Valentine: Magnificent. The doors will be open for you; we shall be engaged until dawn.
He claps his hands, and Keller falls into step at his heel as they turn from the set.
Roy Valentine: A pleasure as always, Miss Silva.
There's a cut to the locker room some minutes ago, where David sits on a bench, leaning forward resting his arms on his knees. There's a television showing the broadcast up in one corner that he usually pays no mind—but when he hears Valentine’s muffled voice extolling this prospect David raises his head, slowly turns to look daggers at the screen.
David O’Toole: He's joking. He’s got to be joking.
Silvio Leon, standing nearby, raises a brow looking amused.
Silvio Leon: Kinda feel like he’s getting ahead of himself.
He looks over at Davie.
Silvio Leon: Penny for your thoughts?
For the moment David just shakes his head, still staring.
David O’Toole: He’s got some gall, this prick–
As the footage shifts from compliment to challenge, David slowly stands, his face stoic but he grits his teeth.
David O’Toole: Oh, that goddamn slatteritch–
Silvio reaches out, resting a hand on Davie’s shoulder.
Silvio Leon: Easy, easy! This is what he wants from you. Don’t give it to him.
David O’Toole: That’s not– it didn’t– I said no! It was settled, the hell’s this?!
Silvio makes a face.
Silvio Leon: Seems like a guy who isn’t used to hearing ‘no.’ All the more reason to say it. You made your decision and he’s not respecting it. Like I was saying - this dude is dangerous. You know what you want - stick to your guns.
David quietly seethes, continuing to stare but remaining motionless as he listens.
Then Jodie arrives, with apparently something to add to the mix. David takes a deep breath, his exhale on edge, and glances to Silvio.
David O’Toole: What d’you reckon?
Silvio Leon: Well… Is it something you want?
David O’Toole: I dunno, it sounds like a double deal. Is it still something to go for?
Silvio Leon: That’s up to you. Is the chance of getting a win over that guy worth the risk of having to sign that contract?
There’s a long moment of quiet.
David O’Toole: … I don’t know. There’s time to think, though—not much, but it’s there.
The tattoo artist nods, watching the monitor.
Silvio Leon: You have to know what you want if you wanna be happy. Do what you gotta do, man.
He grins, patting O’Toole on the back.
Silvio Leon: Anyway, we got other things to think about. Namely, kicking each other’s asses! C’mon, we don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting.
David O’Toole: Yeah.
He nods, and finally turns away to move back towards his locker.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, your next match of the evening is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first!
As the dramatic string introduction of, ‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston,’ by the Dropkick Murphys kicks in, the lights around the Titan-tron pulse green and gold in time with the beat. The screen shows an overhead view of an industrial district, hanging in mid-air for a moment before diving down to the alleys below to show gritty images of hands being taped up, quick footwork of fighters wearing work boots instead of ring boots, and blood spattering against brick walls.
Kevin Kim: From Astoria, Oregon, weighing in at 190 pounds, they call him the Sidewinder, DAVID O’TOOLE!
Dressed in plain black ring pants without design or decor, black ring boots, and an army green hoodie, David O’Toole steps out of the entrance, pausing for a moment at the top of the ramp before making his way to the ring, his steps purposeful. Popping to his feet after sliding in under the bottom rope, he tosses his hoodie aside before rolling his shoulders and bouncing lightly from foot to foot.
Del Ramos: The kid better be careful about letting Valentine get into his head. He shouldn’t let his temper get the better of him.
Hiro Suzuki: Are you saying when it comes to being pissssssed at Valentine, the Sidewinder should sssssscale it back?
Del Ramos: Why was I not born with the ability to explode heads with my thoughts?
Kevin Kim: And his opponent!
The lights in the Colosseum go out, the Titan-tron displaying a black and white image of a Ouija board lit by candles and surrounded by scattered tarot cards and raw crystals. A planchette's point moves of its own volition across the name, ‘Silvio Leon’ written in the classic Ouija font as the opening solo of ‘Superstition,’ by Kyle Primus goes careening around the arena. The entrance is bathed in blacklight, a figure moving through it to stand at the top of the ramp, lifting their hands in front of their face to create the shape of a planchette.
Kevin Kim: Now entering the ring from Seattle, Washington, weighing in at 195 pounds, he is your 'Mystifying Oracle,' SILVIO LEON!
At the top of the ramp, Silvio throws down his hands, a pair of white pyros going off on either side of him as the house lights come back up. Making his way to the ring, he interacts heavily with the fans, giving them high fives, fist bumps, and taking selfies as he progresses. He does an acrobatic little flip over the top rope before landing on the canvas, striding over to a turnbuckle on the opposite side of the ring as Davie and leaning against it, grinning as he gives his friend a playful little salute.
Artemis Direction: Silvio and Davie seem to be getting closer over the past few shows.
Hiro Suzuki: Yeah, I find it weird they’re trying to relax by fighting each other.
Del Ramos: That’s because you’ve never been in the ring before, Suzuki. Like Artemis was saying, a fight without some bad blood behind it can be fucking boring. But when you do this for a living, fighting becomes another way to communicate. So you can be vicious and bloodthirsty with your match, sure, but you can also use the fight to have a different kind of conversation with your opponent.
They snort derisively, rolling their eyes.
Del Ramos: Not that any other kind of conversation is worth having, but fuck - to each their own.
DING DING!
The two fighters step into the center of the ring together, and Davie extends a hand to Silvio. Grinning, the Oracle takes it, but quickly turns the gesture into something like a ‘secret handshake,’ shifting his grip up before snapping their fingers apart, then going for a fist pound, followed by a fist bump, ending in exploding wiggly fingers as he pulls back. David keeps up for the entire exchange, looking amused. Silvio gives him a wink before the pair lock up, exchanging holds! O’Toole proves to be surprisingly strong, knowing how to use his greater range and wiry frame to his advantage! Whipping Leon into the ropes he catches him with a lariat on the way back. Stunned, Silvio slams onto the mat, blinking as the wind is knocked from him. Not letting off the pressure, Davie doesn’t stop moving, immediately going for a Lionsault and colliding hard with his prone opponent!
Hiro Suzuki: O’Toole’s not wasting a second!
Del Ramos: It’s just what he talked about in his promo. Both of them, actually. David’s fast, efficient, and hard-hitting. Knows how to get from one point to the other with as little fuss as possible.
With his opponent still dazed, O’Toole begins dragging Silvio toward the nearest ring post. As he begins to set him up for a figure-four leg lock around the post, the Oracle motions as if to kick his opponent with his free leg. As Davie ducks away from the feigned kick, Silvio twists his upper body into his opponent’s movement, hitting him with an elbow to the face!
Artemis Direction: Oof! And Silvio showing why a little detour can sometimes pay off!
Davie releases Silvio’s leg, blinking a bit at having his bell rung. As Silvio starts to climb to his feet, however, O’Toole starts to hop up onto the turnbuckle, setting up for a triangle drop kick! Before he can take flight, however, Leon catches hold of his arm, yanking him back down to the mat! David manages to stay on his feet! As he’s about to mount an offense, Leon hops up onto the turnbuckle, still gripping O’Toole’s arm, and sends him tumbling back into the center of the ring with an arm drag! Both fighters climb to their feet again, immediately falling in toward each other and exchanging a series of holds! Undaunted, Davie swings Silvio around again, whipping him into the ropes and going for another lariat that the Oracle rolls under! As he gets to his feet, he and Davie both spin toward each other, simultaneously connecting with mirrored super kicks!
Artemis Direction: Well now!
The crowd roars in approval, the two fighters staggering back a little and watching each other with gleaming eyes and mile-wide smiles. Slowly, the pair begin to circle each other, the crowd clapping a steady rhythm to their steps. Davie moves first, lighting quick as he takes Silvio down in a Forward Russian Legsweep! The Oracle hits the canvas, and Davie looks to capitalize with a standing moonsault! Still hanging in the air, Silvio manages to turn in time, putting up a knee that gets Davie directly in the gut! As O’Toole rolls off of him, clutching his midsection, Silvio grimaces and gets to his feet, pointing at the nearest turnbuckle! Not giving his quicksilver opponent the ghost of an opportunity, he clambors up the post and executes a breath-taking corkscrew shooting star press!
Hiro Suzuki: The Color Out of Space!
Silvio goes for the pin and Godric Smith slides in for the count!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Artemis Direction: Hunties, I might need to catch my breath after that one!
As Silvio’s arm is raised in victory, he reaches down and helps Davie to his feet, beaming at him. He gives him a fond little nudge on the chin with his fist before raising O’Toole’s hand and gesturing to him. The crowd is on its feet, chanting, ‘SIDE-WIND-ER! SIDE-WIND-ER!’
Artemis Direction: Valentine isn’t full of hot air. David O’Toole is showing he’s certainly someone to watch.
Hiro Suzuki: He’s an easy fighter to get behind!
Del Ramos: He knows what he’s about in there, and scrappy fights can be pretty vicious.
They grin.
Del Ramos: Ohhh and speaking of, our next match has the makings of something truly bloody.
Hiro Suzuki: Drake seemed pretty pissed at the end of our last Collision…
Del’s grin grows.
Del Ramos: I know and that’s just great.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, the following match is set for one fall! Introducing first, from Parts Unknown, she is ‘The Crazy Angel,’ ZEPHYR QUINN!
"Send Me An Angel," rings out as the fans in attendance pop. Zephyr Quinn comes out to the stage, though this time without Belle Silva at her side. A look of pure confidence crosses over Zephyr's face as she strolls to the ring. She hops up lightly onto the apron and poses in the center as the music fades.
Artemis Direction: ...Oh, dear...where’s Belle?
Kevin Kim: And her opponent!
The house lights dim as harsh, stark pulses of white light strobe from the entrance at the top of the ramp. As the beat of London Calling drops, however, the usual wrestler it heralds is nowhere to be found.
Kevin hesitates a moment, but continues with his announcement.
Kevin Kim: Hailing from Tower Hamlets, London, England weighing in at 234lbs, he is The King of Catch, ARTHUR DRAKE!
London Calling continues to play, but Drake does not come down the ramp. Zephyr scowls, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the entrance. Kevin glances to the commentary table and is met with shrugs and baffled looks. Finally, he touches his ear piece and appears to be talking with someone. He pauses, bites his lower lip, and then nods. Clearing his throat, he raises the mic to his mouth.
Kevin Kim: Ascended Army, our sincerest apologies. It would appear that the King of Catch, Arthur Drake, is not on the premises. Unfortunately until we locate him, we will have to call off this match.
Zephyr throws her arms up in exasperation, and Del lets out a snarl of disbelief.
Del Ramos: OH JUST GO AND FUCKING PISS IN MY CHEERIOS, HUH? GODDAMN TYPICAL!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by forfeit, the Crazy Angel, ZEPHYR QUINN!
Zephyr doesn’t even bother to have her hand raised, turning away from Kim and storming off into the back.
Artemis lets out a little hiss through clenched teeth.
Artemis Direction: Oooh...I don’t believe anyone is happy with this outcome; least of all Zephyr.
Hiro looks back toward the entrance and brightens.
Hiro Suzuki: Ooh I think we might have something to make up for it, though!
Artemis follows his gaze and grins.
Artemis Direction: Well well well! If it isn’t the spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.
The opening scat beat of The Lonely Island’s, “I’m So Humble,” strike as the floor spotlights along the entrance ramp pan upward, and a red floodlight fills the space in between, creating an impromptu Red Carpet. Small strobe lights flash in a mimicry of cameras popping off as the screen above the arena displays golden, angelic wings and the signature initials M.A. in a ruby-red wax seal.
I've got it all, and I'm gettin' more
But I never fall, beat 'em all
'Cause you know I'm so humble--
I'm so humble, I'm so humble!
Marcus Afsah, president and CEO of Ascended Wrestling, emerges at the top of the ramp, dressed in a finely tailored maroon suit, a black tie with golden filigree flashing at his throat and polished black oxfords with gold soles. He strolls down the red-carpet ramp at his own pace, taking a pair of gold-rimmed aviators from his breast pocket and sliding them on over his sharp green eyes--he then draws a hand over his salt-and-pepper dark hair, the gold and emerald rings on his fingers catching the glimmers of strobe light, and adjusts his jacket with a casual tug on his way down toward the ring. Pops of gold glitter are sent upward as he reaches the arena floor while the screen displays views of the president’s opulent office, with its fountains, angelic statuaries and gold trim.
I'm a superstar, I kick down the door
Got the money and the girls
And I'm also so humble--
I'm so humble!
The President of Ascended checks the gold Rolex on his wrist as he nears the ring, then gestures for Kevin Kim to hand him a mic as he slips in through the ropes, drumming his fingertips lightly against it while he takes himself to the center of the ring. As his music fades, he turns to address the audience for the first time, a languid smirk finding its way to his offensively handsome face.
Marcus Afsah: So, what do we think? Everybody having fun so far? I’m having a blast.
As the Ascended Army pops, Marcus turns in a slow circle, shifting his weight back and forth with the ease of a man who no longer gives a damn what anyone thinks of him.
Marcus Afsah: What a fantastic start we got here, people. I’m just tickled. We’ve got talent pouring out both ends here--some seriously nail-biting stuff, and some unexpected twists and turns that I didn’t even plan. That’s incredible. I only have one rule for my roster, and that’s don’t be boring--would you say they’re keeping that promise, everybody?
The Army pops again with even greater enthusiasm, a few cheers breaking out for certain members of the roster. Marcus grins, teeth flashing white under the arena lights.
Marcus Afsah: Right, right. That’s what I thought. And now we’re coming up on our very first pay-per-view--Ascension!
The crowd cheers, thundering with anticipation.
Marcus Afsah: So it’s about time we ramp things up.
Responding to Marcus’s wave, referees Jill Kincaid and Gordric Smith join him in the ring--with a few special trophies in tow. Jill carries one belt, and Godric carries two. Marcus points to Jill, who hoists the Emerald City Championship Belt into the air to a roar of excitement from the crowd.
Marcus Afsah: The Emerald City belt is for the peoples’ champion--somebody you can look up to and count on. Well, depending on your taste, I think we have two perfect contenders for that--two contenders who already have a wager riding on their next clash. The first competitors for the Emerald City belt will be Roy Valentine versus the Sidewinder, David O’Toole!
As the crowd roars with approval, Marcus points to Godric Smith and cocks his head to the left. Godric hoists the black and gold Underworld Championship Belt skyward.
Marcus Afsah: Now the two rough customers in line for this puppy--The Underworld Championship-- have some history together. Some unfinished business. Where they came from, they’ve been pulling back and forth like a couple of dogs over a cut of prime steak--they’ve fought each other to a draw not once, but twice, and bled for it profusely. The hardcore instinct for violence runs deep in these two. Well, I’m giving these monsters a chance to finally settle the score. The Underworld Championship is on the line… for the Crazy Angel, Zephyr Quinn, and the Lab Rat King!!
The crowd is no less enthusiastic, though cheers and jeers mingle heavily for the two competitors. Marcus lazily spins to face the other side of the arena, waving to Godric who hoists up the final belt.
The Ascended Wrestling World Championship.
Marcus Afsah: Finally… the World Championship. This belt belongs to the bastard who represents this whole damn outfit. This belt is for the strongest, toughest, most motivated, aggravated, ambitious and vicious leader of the locker room. I have a couple of contenders in mind… a homegrown hero, and the shade of his past mistakes coming for him with mask off.
The crowd starts to swell with cheers and jeers as the Army catches on, chants breaking out all around the arena.
ORACLE, ORACLE!
IN-SEN-SATE!
ORACLE, ORACLE!
IN-SEN-SATE!
Looking like a lazy, pleased cat, Marcus lifts the mic to his lips with a chuckle.
Marcus Afsah: Yeah that’s it, you got me… goddamn I love some drama. And this little feud keeps getting juicier. The Oracle Silvio Leon will face The Insensate Sebastian Hawke for the World Title!
The crowd explodes with excitement as Marcus’s music starts again. He gives the crowd a lazy salute, tosses the mic back to Kevin Kim (who only fumbles it slightly), and he makes his way back up the ramp. At the top, Jodie Ngyuen waits with a tablet and a steady eye, and he joins her in an inaudible conversation on the way out while the crowd cheers, and the referees exit the ring with the belts.
Del Ramos: Oh fuck yes FUCK YES!
Their eyes are practically embers, their smile positively carnivorous.
Del Ramos: I can’t believe Zephyr Quinn and Lab Rat King are going to conclude things once and for all at Ascended! I can’t fucking wait for that shit!
Hiro Suzuki: Now we know what Valentine was so… smirky about earlier. That adds a whole new wrinkle to the deal he’s proposing to Davie.
Artemis Direction: Oh, my dear child. I know this is what he wanted but... not in this way.
Del Ramos: And just think of the rest of the matches we’re going to get to see! All the new blood! All the monsters and mutilators! All the sweet, vicious brutality!
Hiro Suzuki: Looks like the tag titles aren’t going to be fought for this time around.
Artemis Direction: Still a division we need to build. I doubt it’ll take long for some teams to start forming. If there’s gold to be claimed, people are going to reach for it, darlings.
Del Ramos: All these new faces in the company make for so many opportunities for interesting teams.
Hiro Suzuki: Think we’ll see some opposites attract, or will it be more, ‘bird of a feather flock together’? Hey, that reminds me! What’s black and white and black and white and black and white?
Artemis Direction: I don’t know, sweetling, what?
Hiro Suzuki: A penguin falling down stairs!
Del Ramos: Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? Just put something down for him to trip on at the top of a staircase! He’s a clumsy fuck, anyway. It’s the perfect murder.
Hiro Suzuki: What did you say?
Del Ramos: Nothing. Hey, Hiro, did you know extra long shoelaces are in fashion now with the best-paid comedians?
Hiro Suzuki: Oh, really?
Kevin Kim: Our main event tonight is a singles contest scheduled for one fall. Now entering the ring, from Grand Junction, Colorado, weighing in at 369 lbs, ‘The Eliminator’, SKUP9!
The arena's lights snuff out as a distant voice proclaims:
A chorus of violins and organs rise in the darkness, and the voice speaks again.
It's been a long time, been a long time comin'
It's life or death for me now
But you know, there's no turning back now
This is what makes me, this is what I am
Feel me, let's go
Bass and drums reverberate through the speakers, filling the arena. A spotlight kicks in on stage and reveals the hulking silhouette of a man standing before the entrance. The lights flare up and The Eliminator's hands fly into the air. He treads down to the ring with thundering steps, casting a hard gaze across the crowd. Most of the audience shy from his stare. At the ringside, one step takes SKUP9 to the apron, and another takes him over and inside, where he stretches in his corner with eyes locked on the entrance.
Artemis Direction: SKUP9 says he underestimated Zephyr Quinn and it looks like he doesn’t plan on repeating that mistake with Valentine.
Kevin Kim: And his opponent, accompanied tonight by Anastasia Keller; from Cape Elizabeth, Maine, weighing in at 219 lbs, ROY VALENTINE!
Heavy operatic guitar blares through the stadium. The screen follows a trail of twisting, thorny vines as they wind over a pitch-black floor towards the foot of a marble throne. As the thorns begin to engulf the stone, the camera rises to reveal Roy Valentine lying sideways across his marble seat, legs pitched over its arm. The plants trace a deferential space around Valentine, but utterly consume every inch of bare throne. When the vines finally stop twisting, Valentine snaps his fingers and the all-encompassing wall of green bursts into bloom, red and gold roses spelling out the name, “ROY VALENTINE”.
Valentine then makes his entrance in the flesh, struts on stage under a shower of crimson petals. Alongside him stalks his steel wall of an assistant, Anastasia Keller, metal clipboard in hand. Valentine holds a scarlet “Valentine Velvet” rose at his heart, which he tosses into the crowd on his way to the ring, all the while blowing kisses to the adoring--or, perhaps, disgusted--Ascended Army.
Hiro Suzuki: Thistle be an interesting match with how different our fighters are!
Del Ramos: Is anyone else a little weirded out by how obsessed this guy is with David O’Toole?
Artemis: It is a little...unsettling. Especially with that scandal about the disappearance of someone while under his employ.
DING DING!
Del Ramos: HA! The big guy is just tossing Valentine around like a ragdoll!
Hiro Suzuki: You ain’t dandelion!
Artemis Direction: Valentine had better pull himself together if he’s going to have a hope in this match!
SKUP9 reaches down and drags Valentine back to his feet. The Eliminator rebounds against the ropes and lays the stunned Valentine flat again in a shoulder block that connects with a resounding smack! He drops to the mat and moves to pin!
One!
Two!
Thr-
Valentine kicks out!
Artemis Direction: That was almost it right there!
Del Ramos: Oooh I bet this is gonna turn into a slaughter! Thanks for comin’ through with the violence, beardo!
Ringside, Keller sets her clipboard against the post in Roy’s corner, plants her hands on the mat, and starts reciting what sounds like a memorized list of reprimands against referee Godric Smith, starting with his “utter ineptitude” in missing how “SKUP9 leveraged his leg against the ropes in that illegal pin”. Godric begins to argue back while Keller leads him to the other side of the ring, tugging on the bottom ropes as if to lend merit to her argument.
Hiro Suzuki: Uh oh. Keller making trouble with the official…
Artemis Direction: Wait a moment - is that her clipboard still leaning on the ring post?
Meanwhile, SKUP9 is back on his feet, and Valentine is crawling towards his corner. The Eliminator glares at his shattered opponent, then turns to the audience with a sneer. He points one finger to Valentine--and thrusts his thumb down, shaking his head. With two quick strides, SKUP9 is above Valentine again and drags him up into the turnbuckle. But a silver light flashes in Valentine’s hands--there’s a metallic crack as Valentine drives Keller’s steel clipboard into SKUP9’s chin, and another when it comes down on The Eliminator’s head as he reels! Valentine whips the clipboard through the ropes before Godric Smith turns back to the action!
Hiro Suzuki: I don’t be-leaf it!
Valentine’s smile to the crowd and outstretched arms are met with a chorus of boo-ing. Before SKUP9 can recover, Valentine zips behind him, grabs his waist, and--face flushed red with strain--lifts The Eliminator from the mat, bringing his tailbone down onto an outstretched knee in an atomic drop! Valentine rushes to the side-ring ropes and climbs up. At the top, he strikes a pose, flexing his biceps for the incensed crowd.
Del Ramos: Ohhh that’s a kinda hate so thick and rich you could pour it over pancakes. Fuckin’ delicious.
The following moments slow to a crawl. Valentine spins around on the top rope. SKUP9 has finally shaken off his opponent’s low blow. The ropes twang as Roy springs off of them, fists clasped together above his head--aimed at The Eliminator’s skull. Down whistles the axe handle--
--and is stopped short when SKUP9’s outstretched hand wraps around Valentine’s throat midair! With a swing, SKUP9 hauls Valentine over his head in a military press! For a silent moment, the entire arena holds its collective breath; then Valentine drops face-first into SKUP9’s rising knee! He crashes to the mat, and when Godric Smith confirms he’s out cold, the bell rings!
DING DING DING!
Kevin Kim: Your winner by submission, “The Eliminator”, SKUP9!
Del Ramos: Fucking fantastic!
Hiro Suzuki: I think our giant’s really growing on me!
Del Ramos: I’m so fucking happy after that match and knowing what kind of championship fights we’re gonna see, I’m gonna let that lameness slide, Suzuki.
Hiro Suzuki: Aw, really? You’ve made my daisy!
Del Ramos: ...Nah, you ruined it. Prepare for pain.
Artemis Direction: See you all at Ascension, Ascended Army!
The broadcast flickers to the washed-out feed of a security camera surveying one of the back hallways of the Colosseum. Valentine has just started to pass through its view, his assistant just off to one side.
Anastasia Keller: The Emerald City belt. Are we ready, sir?
Roy Valentine: It may not fit our initial designs… but, so long as O’Toole responds–
There's a short, sharp whistle from down the hall.
??: Ey, Valentine!
David enters the camera’s sight, purposeful, but pauses briefly to wait.
Roy Valentine: Speak of the devil. David, my boy, what brings you here?
Valentine beckons with a flourish of his hand. David approaches, hands in his pockets, his face set as flint, giving Valentine a long look.
David O’Toole: Got some damn nerve, I'll give you that.
Roy Valentine: Ah, I see that little stunt with Miss Silva caught your attention. It is fortuitous that Mister Leon left you conscious; I do hate repeating myself.
David O’Toole: The hell is your game here? I tell you no, and you go airing this out here.
Roy Valentine: You gave me no such refusal. That besides, why did you bring that contract with you, if not to consider the offer?
David O’Toole: Call it morbid curiosity. But what about what I said did not read to you as a refusal?
Roy Valentine: Leaving without saying ‘no.’
David's grit wavers, just for a moment.
David O’Toole: … Okay. Maybe I didn't say no as such, that’s on me. But you really actually thought this kind of pull would change my mind?
Roy Valentine: Here you are.
David O'Toole: ‘Cause you called me out, not because I’ve changed my mind.
There is a pause—David shifts back on his heels, remaining stoic, but the serrated edge is less.
David O’Toole: So you want an answer.
Roy Valentine: I want what is best for you, David. That match with Mister Leon was a travesty. Your opponent took advantage of your poor form time and again. You left openings fit for a whale, let alone a man.
David O’Toole: Sorry, which match were you watching?
Roy Valentine: The least you can do is offer me the courtesy of a response: if not to my initial offer, then to the challenge as was laid out on Miss Silva’s program. Marcus has seen to it that you have more to gain now than ever before.
David O’Toole: And I need to give an answer for either of us to get on the next card. If you'll deign to sit where I'm sitting for a sec—assuming I'm kinda tight on goodwill, what else would possibly compel me to actually give you an answer?
Roy Valentine: Think of your future, David. Though you seem disinterested in the title belt—for the best, considering your slim chances of victory—I doubt you have fond memories of life on the road. A brief respite at Ascended; then, what? Back to the automotive shops? Risk another Cambridge fiasco?
Before he can stop it, David’s expression drops to blank, startled surprise. After a moment he regains some of his standing, though less assured than before, and he thinks.
David O’Toole: One condition.
Roy Valentine: Name it.
David O’Toole: If I accept the challenge, and I end up losing, I'm signing off on the contract as it was presented to me. No additions, no updates, no tweaks, just the version of the document that you gave me.
Silent static fills the camera feed as Valentine pauses, stroking his chin. Leaning into Valentine’s ear, Keller murmurs something too quiet for the feed to capture, to which Valentine sighs and shakes his head. He offers a hand for David to shake.
Roy Valentine: That is… agreeable. Then, you accept?
David watches his hand for a long moment. He takes a deep breath.
David O’Toole: Yes.
He pulls his hand from his jacket pocket– and drops something that bounces off the floor with a few metallic tinks before ricocheting off the wall and landing back at David's feet. Puzzled, he gets to one knee to pick it up—the camera can't quite capture it in detail, but it's definitely gold around red, with a tiny red glint in the center. Quickly he sticks it back in his pocket as he stands, and regains his composure.
David O’Toole: Deal.
He shakes Valentine’s hand. Valentine grins.
Roy Valentine: Watch your footing there, David.
David O’Toole: Yeah, I'm fine.
He breaks the handshake, and takes a step back.
David O’Toole: Sounds like we've got us a scrap. ‘Til then, sir, Miz Keller–
He gives them a nod in turn, then makes to walk past them out towards the exit. Valentine and Keller exchange a look.
Roy Valentine: Did you hear that? Sir. By god, Anastasia, perhaps we have him after all.
Credits
Fancy Pants Mansion Intro - Roy Valentine
WildStar & Wildheart - WildStar and Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston
Wildheart vs. Brawn Johnson & promo - Amelia ‘Wildheart’ Winston
LRK vs. The Pit - Zephyr Quinn
Beyond the Belle - Zephyr Quinn, Marcus Afsah/LRK, and Roy Valentine
Reaction - David O’Toole and Silvio Leon
Announcement - Marcus Afsah/LRK
SKUP9 vs. Roy Valentine - Roy Valentine
Post-Credits - Roy Valentine and David O’Toole
Everything Else - Ampersand
And a special thank you to the folks who helped me judge RPs in which I was unable due to my participation in them, or because all of my writers are intensely talented and I needed second opinions.